You’re in my arms and all the world is calm. The music playing on for only two.
A very rushed drawing for soriku day because to day was busy, but I desperately wanted to put something out today. I won’t let something as frivolous as an occupation get in the way of soriku day. nope.
Oh gods. Every time I hear your famous theme song "Face Up, Face Down", I imagine you donning the attire of Jareth the Goblin King from that 1980s Labyrinth movie, especially when the lyric about kidnapping people comes up.
“Alas, poor David Bowie, taken from this world too soon. We did not deserve him. Farewell, you fabulous man…
“But now that you mention it, that outfit is quite camp, I simply adore it! You know who else might look spectacular in it?
Request: Anonymous. Hey could y'all write something based on the song Face Down with dean? If you don’t like writing about that kind of stuff, it’s okay. :) thanks either way!
Pairing: Dean Winchester/Reader
Word Count: 1481
Warning: Mentions of mental abuse and physical abuse, language
Author: Brit and Amy
A/N: I want to apologize for how long this took, I was having a hard time with it, and Brit-Chuck love her, she helped with this!
Growing up, it had always been you and Dean Winchester. He was your best friend when you were kids, and as you got older it turned to something more at least on your part. There was no way that he would ever see you in that way. Watching him pick women up in bars had always been hard, so when you met Sean one night it seemed like your prayers were answered.
At first he was everything you wanted in a man- good looking, funny, attentive, made you feel like you were the only one in his world. That feeling didn’t last long, never does with guys like Sean. While everyone else saw the great guy, the one everyone wanted to hang out with, there was another side that didn’t come out unless you were alone together or he thought no one else might hear him.
The first time it was harsh words- “Stupid bitch” being muttered when you didn’t get beer quick enough for everyone. Dean heard it, though. One of the perks of being a hunter was excellent hearing. Sean was quick enough to laugh it off though, “Just messing around baby, c’mere,” he flashed Dean an innocent smile. Dean forced one back, the words stuck in his mind.
A/N: Its been quite a while between fics, so hopefully I’m not too rusty. :) Let me know what ya think & my ask box/submission box is always open for requests! xoxox
Trigger Warning for domestic abuse.
You leaned closer to the mirror, wincing at your reflection as you assessed the damage. The bruise that was blooming over your cheekbone was throbbing in time with your heartbeat. It could’ve been worse, though. Hell, it had been in the past. You globbed on concealer to mask the deepening shades of red and purple. Everytime it pulsed, it strengthened your resolve. This was the last time he would get away with laying his hands on you. Sure, he already swore up and down that he was sorry, that he would be better. Those promises only lasted until the next time anger started scratching away in his head. If he didn’t change and fast, you were out.
“You almost done in there?” Trey called from the other side of the door. You rolled your eyes, inspected your work, and opened the door. He held out a bunch of flowers that looked suspiciously like the ones from your neighbor’s flowerbed. “I really am sorry, Y/N. Here. You might want to put these in some water.”
“Why don’t you do that,” you said as you moved past him. “I have to get to work. If I’m late again, Barry is going to wring my neck.” His hand wrapped around your bicep and jerked you to a halt. Your heart rate sped up as you turned to look at him.
“I’m trying here, alright? So how about a little appreciation for my efforts?” You couldn’t afford another showdown - you really were late and you had used the last of your makeup. Instead, you kissed his cheek and he let go. “See? Was that so hard? I’ll see you after work.”
The bar was quiet when you walked in. It was mid-afternoon on a Thursday, so you weren’t surprised. Barry was cleaning glasses as he chatted with the man nursing his pint. Dean. One part of you was estatic to see him, the other was terrified. Not of him. No. It was because he was much more observant than he looked, and if there was one person that would see through your act, it was him. You were running out of excuses for the bumps, bruises, and limping that would pop up when Trey lost it. Plus, there was no denying the pull you felt towards him. Dean turned to smile at you, and you had to stop your hand from covering your cheek. Barry caught sight of you as well. He tossed down the rag he was holding, leaning against the sink as you hurried around.
“Look who finally decided to grace us with her presence,” Barry quipped as made a mocking bow.
You sighed. “I lost track of time. It won’t happen again.”
“You said that last time. And the time before that. And the time of before that-”
“Come on, man, give her a break.” Your face flushed as Dean defended you. “You’re not exactly swamped here.” The clack of pool balls echoed through the nearly empty bar emphasizing his point. You rushed to do your start of shift duties. It was more to avoid Barry than anything. Minutes ticked by. Then, Dean spoke up again. “All clear. He went home.”
You did your best to smile in appreciation, but the deep ache just below your eye left the expression to fall short. He was eying you warily. As much as you usually loved his company, at the moment you were wishing he would leave. Thankfully, more people were beginning to meander in which gave you a reason to avoid conversation with him. For the moment, at least. When you went to pour a pint of lager for a customer, the tap sputtered and spit. The keg had run dry. You let out a groan. The basement was dark and damp - altogether not your favorite place. You lifted open the trapdoor in the floor, and carefully made your way down. The steps were rickety and warped, and there was a definite chill to the air down there. You groped blind for the pull chain, sighing in relief when the lone bulb above your head flickered to life.
You passed a hand absentmindedly over your face as you read the sides of the kegs lined up in front of you. “Miller… Miller Lite… Coors… Bud… Where the hell is the lager…”
“All the way at the end,” offered a voice behind you and you jumped. You spun to find Dean standing there, hands shoved in his pockets and a smirk on his face. A smirk that disappeared as his eyes narrowed on your cheekbone. You must have rubbed away some of the concealer. He took a step closer to you, and you inched back. “What happened to you?”
“What do you mean?” You were trying to play stupid, and failed. You switched to nonchalance. “Oh. The bruise. Would you believe I managed to walk into an open cabinet this morning? I’m such a klutz. I should be put in a bubble.”
His eyebrows pulled together, his mouth set in a grim line. “No, I don’t believe it. Just like I didn’t believe it the last time you used that excuse. Besides, what cabinet leaves bruises in the shape of knuckles.” Your knees were starting to tremble. “It was that guy you’re living with, wasn’t it?”
“His name is Trey,” you said through gritted teeth. “And it’s really none of your business who I’m involved with, anyway. He’s not perfect, but he’s a good guy deep down. He’s trying.”
“Trying not to use you as his personal punching bag?” he snapped.
You stared him down, trying your best not to let him see how right he really was. “I don’t think you’re supposed to be down here, Dean. Why don’t go back upstairs.” With a huff, he turned on his heel and left, turning away just before the tears escaped your eyes.
Dean stomped back to his barstool. He couldn’t understand it. Y/N was beautiful, smart, tough as nails… Why were you with such a waste of oxygen? He had been coming to this bar almost daily for weeks now, and it sure as hell wasn’t for the cheap beer. It was for you. At first, it was pure infatuation. You were the definition of his type of girl. Then, it started to change. To grow. He began to notice more and more about you the longer he hung around. Some of those things made his blood boil. He knew a thing or two about injuries. Turtle neck in the summer plus turning your whole body instead of just your head equaled Trey having his hands around your throat a few weeks ago. A slight limp and your left arm held close to your body another time? There were plenty of scenarios for that, and none of them good. His blood pressure spiked, and he let go of his glass before he broke it in his grip.
Dean never understood men who hit women. What was this asshole trying to prove? Did he have some sort of power complex he needed to hash out? An anger problem? Mommy and Daddy didn’t hug him enough as a kid? It’s not like John had ever had long cuddle sessions with him and Sammy growing up, but you didn’t see him smacking around every chick he got involved with. The more he thought about you in that toxic situation, the angrier he got. He watched for you to reappear so he could at least apologize to you. He had gone down to help switch the keg, and had ended up cornering you instead. It hadn’t been fair to you, and he knew it. You walked back into view, but held up a hand when he started to speak.
“I’m sorry for being snippy before,” you said in a low voice. Sorry? Why? “I know you mean well, but I’m really fine. Trey isn’t anything I can’t handle, and I think he really means it this time when he says he’s trying to change.”
Dean studied your face for minute. In the dim lighting, the makeup you had layered on was doing a passable job to hide the latest in a long string of marks he had seen inflicted on you. If he hadn’t already made a habit of cataloguing your well being everytime he saw you, he may have missed it altogether. It was clear you were good at covering up Trey’s handiwork. The fact that that was a skill you had had time to perfect made him see red. He wouldn’t let that show, though. Not to you. You had enough anger and violence directed at you the way it was, and he wasn’t about to heap more on. Instead, he tried a different angle. This was tricky territory, though. You didn’t know the life he lived. To you, he was just another regular in some Kansas dive bar.
“In my experience, monsters don’t change,” he began. “There have been the rare few I’ve seen that have tried to fight their natures - be more than what they were at their core. The majority only have one drive. They want to hurt, to kill, to cause as much havoc as they can before someone stops them. That douchebag will tell you he’s going to change because he knows that’s what you want to hear. When it comes right down to it, though, he’ll never keep his word. You don’t deserve that. Hell, no one deserves that. You need to get out of there, Y/N, before that black eye turns into a black coffin.” A part of him felt bad when he saw the tears threatening to spill down your face, but ignored it. You needed to hear this. He scribbled his number on a napkin and slid it across the bar. You stared down at it, not picking it up. “I know you love him, and he probably loves you too in his own way. That won’t stop him the next time he decides to let off some steam. If you start getting bad vibes from him again, you call me. I don’t care if it’s three in the afternoon or four in the morning. Call me and I’ll be in there as fast as I can. If Trey wants to act like a big man, he can fight someone his own size.”
And with that, Dean drained his beer, left a wad of bills on the counter, and walked out. He didn’t look back as he left, so he didn’t see you slip the napkin into your back pocket.
You sat in your driveway after closing down the bar, listening to the TV blaring from inside the house. Typical Trey, not giving two shits about anyone but himself. It was only a matter of time before one of the neighbors called the cops. You fished out Dean’s number from your pocket. If Trey found the paper, he was sure to freak. You were about to rip it up, but you hesitated. Before your talk with Dean, you were set on giving Trey the benefit of the doubt. He had sounded so sincere this morning… But then again, who knew? It wasn’t like he hadn’t said the same things before. Instead of shredding the number and blowing it off, you read the number over and over until it was committed to memory. Better safe than sorry.
Trey was passed out on the recliner when you eased the front door closed. ESPN was cranked, but the empty beer cans told the tale of how he was sleeping through the booming sound of the announcers’ voices. You switched off the program, and the lack of earsplitting sports commentary roused Trey from his drunken slumber.
“The fuck did you do you that for?” he slurred as he struggled to stand. Aluminum cans clattered from the end table to the floor. You withheld your sigh of frustration. Any sign of consternation on your part would only serve to set him off.
“You were sleeping, honey, and you could’ve woke the dead with how loud that was.” You dropped your purse onto the coffee table, moving toward him with a very fake, very small smile. “Let’s get you upstairs.” When you reached for his hand to help him up, he swatted it away. It took some effort, but he rose unsteadily to his feet. Trey’s face was inches from your own. You could smell the alcohol on his breath as it wafted over your face. You knew from past experience that you should back up, but this time you stood your ground. If you played nice and didn’t cower, maybe this would be okay. You tried once more for his hand. “Come on, babe. I’m tired. Let’s go lay down.”
This time he shoved you back. Your legs hit the coffee table, sending you falling backwards onto the cigarette butts and cans. So much for changing, you thought. You scrambled up, snatched your purse, and ran out the door. Your body was shaking. You dropped your bag, the contents spilling out into your yard. You dug around until your hand closed on your phone, and you dialed the number you had committed to memory. It didn’t make it past the first ring.
“Y/N, where are you?” It sounded like Dean had been expecting the call. You rambled off your address as you searched for your keys. You could hear Trey lumbering around inside, and your stomach sank. You hadn’t grabbed them from the table. “Okay, I’m on my way. Find somewhere to hide. Whatever you do, don’t try to take him on yourself, you hear me? Wait for me.” You could hear the roar of an engine through the phone and agreed to his instructions.
The front door banged open, and you dashed around the side of the house. With any luck, Trey hadn’t seen you. You ducked down behind the metal shed Trey had once called his work shop. That had been during better times, when he would stay in there for hours sawing, hammering, and staining wood into furniture to surprise you with. His last creation, a wooden porch swing, was now sitting in the grass to your left. He had broken it in one of his rages last summer and never fixed it. In fact, the inside of that shed hadn’t seen the light of day in a long, long time.
Your heart was hammering in your chest, your blood rushing in your ears to mix with Trey’s drunken calls for you. At first, they started out deceptively sweet. Honey, baby, beautiful… Pet names meant to draw you out in a moment of weakness. When that didn’t work, his true colors came out. You held your breath when he neared the shed. His shuffling steps sounded like they were mere feet away. If he rounded the corner, you weren’t sure you could get away.
“Get out here, you bitch! Who were you on the phone with, huh? Your little boy toy from the bar? Didn’t think I’d find out about him? What’s his name… Derrick… Dan…” His tirade was cut off by loud crack follwed by a thud. You didn’t move until another voice spoke up.
“The name’s Dean, dickhead.” You moved out into the open to where Dean was standing over Trey. What looked like an old broken piece of lumber was in his grip as he loomed over the lump of a man on the ground. Dean nudged him with his boot, and Trey groaned loudly. Dean’s expression was a mix of anger and disgust. “Good. You’re awake ‘cause I got a couple of things that I’ve been wanting to say for a long time. Tell me, does it make you feel like man to bat Y/N around? Like some sort of big guy because you can hurt a woman?” He kicked Trey in the stomach. “Or maybe,” another kick, “its about control. You knew she wouldn’t fight back, so you’d always have the upperhand. Newsflash, asshole! That doesn’t make you tough. That makes you a coward.” He reared his leg back for one last hard kick to Trey’s face, but stopped it short. He crouched down, poking Trey in the forehead. “Still with me, cupcake? You listen, and you listen good. See that woman over there?” He pointed in your direction and Trey did his best to turn and look. “This is the last time you’re ever gonna to see her. When we’re done having our little chat, I’m helping Y/N get her stuff, and then we’re gone. You’re not going to call her, text her, nothin’. If I find out you so much as even try, I’m coming back and sending you downstairs where you belong. The only reason I’m not killing you right here, right now is because I’ve been down there. A sicko like you would feel right at home. Hell is too good for you, and that’s sayin’ somethin’. Now, you’re gonna lay your sorry ass right here on the ground until we leave. You got me?”
He stood up, tossed the splintered wood down next to Trey, then made a beeline for you. When he was close enough, you didn’t hesitate. You launched yourself into his arms, and felt instant safety when he held you to him. Dean kissed the top of your head, murmuring that it was over, you were safe, you were okay. He let you get your bearings before stepping away and leading you into the house. An hour later, the Impala was lugged down with everything you could fit. You didn’t even glance in the rearview as he pulled away from the curb, one hand on the wheel and the other holding your own. Your past was shrinking away behind you as a new future opened up ahead. You weren’t sure what it held, but as you looked at Dean, you were positive it was far better than what you had left panting on the lawn.