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cherry3point14 · 5 years

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Mine: Ch2 - BELONG

Series Masterlist

Pairing: Dean x Reader Warnings: Show level violence, murder(?), little bit of angst Word Count: 4,586. Chapter Summary: Dean should know by now it’s impossible to escape hunting. Then again maybe that’s a good thing. A/N: Oh Dean, Deany, Dean-o. What are we going to do with you?

Ao3 if you prefer

The house looks the same. The same open window and blue front door but now there’s a shitty pickup outside of it instead of your Prius. I’m not supposed to know who Carl is beyond his name. I’m not supposed to know that he works as a plumber, elbow deep in actual shit. And I shouldn’t know that he doesn’t even technically live at the address we’ve pulled up at.

There’s a lot about this situation that’s fucked three ways to Sunday. Pulling up outside your house and pretending that Baby doesn’t have a regular spot here is pretty high up the list. The fact that I’m here to talk to you is probably higher up.

When Sam said we were coming to your town for a case I’d panicked. Obviously. He’d said it on the road. Five minutes out of the bunker and he's telling me with a casual flick of his hair that we're heading for Manhattan. Few towns over he’d said. Like I don’t know where it is. Had I missed something while I was there? Had there been a case that I hadn’t seen because I was too busy trying to figure out why you’re dating king of the douchebags? What if you were in danger?

Then we’d rolled into town with our usual shtick. Crime scenes and police department visits. At the end of day one, we know it’s a witch, on account of the hex bags. We both decide to stay local even if we’re only a few hours away from home. Easier to get this over and done with.

That's fine and dandy, or it would be if I wasn’t standing outside your house.

Because now it’s a little too close to home. Now the bad stuff might seep into your life and that’s exactly what I’m trying to keep away from you. Everything bad.

“Hello?” Carl yanks open the door a little too hard. If only you could see this. He has no respect for your home.

Sam and I both hold up our badges in the calm and measured way we’ve long since perfected. Luckily the glare on my face isn't out of character either, “I’m agent Sykes, this is my partner agent Aldrich.”

It’s easy to tell when someone is a sack of shit. They tend to look more than a little shifty when met with feds, fake or otherwise. And this guy? He clams up before I finish reeling off our fake names.

“What- I mean what can I do for you officers?”

Sam continues the well-oiled machine that is our double act. “We’re investigating the deaths of Andrew Hartley, Robert Smith, and Jerry Garfield. We’re aware you knew them from a local bar and we had some questions.”

The dick didn’t murder them at least because he breathes this big sigh of relief and opens his arm to usher us inside.

I want to bite my tongue, I do, I should. I just can’t help myself, “is this your place?” There is absolutely no way that I sound casual.

“No, Nah. This is my, erm, girlfriends.” Carl even stutters over calling you his girlfriend, while in your house, as if he doesn’t want to lock himself down.

Sam doesn’t question the detour except for a fleeting glance in my direction, so that’s good. That’s something he’ll want to talk about later. He knows there is a time and place though. So, he sticks to the script and launches into questions about the victims. Turns out they all drank together. Carl knew them from a bar, that’s it. A few more questions in and it happens. You walk through the front door.

“Oh, I’m sorry I-” you stop in the doorway with a brown paper bag in your hand and shake your head, remembering. “This is my house?”

It’s hard not to laugh. It’s impossible to contain my smile. This is the first time I’m in the same room as you since we met and somehow you got, even more, freaking adorable. Your face is all scrunched in confusion but there’s a flustered joke in your voice.

“Babe, these are some FBI agents investigating those guys from the bar I told you about.”

You don’t panic as Carl had at the mention of law enforcement because you’re a good person. “Right, of course. I’m sorry. Erm. Did you guys want some coffee or something?”

Any normal person can see that you’re offering a drink to the officials currently in your home. Your prince over there pipes up anyway, “babe can you get me a beer and something to eat?”

What has he done to you Y/N? What the fuck has happened that you think this chump is all you deserve? The pained half smile on your face is bad enough but the tiny, “sure,” that falls from it kind of fucks me over. There’s none of that fire you’d had while trying to impress me with food. There’s not even the strict concentration you’d had while pretending to be a waitress. Your shoulders fall and you shuffle to the kitchen. You’re not going there because you love to cook or even want to go. You going to the kitchen because you don’t know how to make the asshole leave. Or you’re afraid of being alone if he does.

I have to pretend it’s a cramp in my hand when I unfurl my fist. Stretching my fingers like they hurt from an ache and not because I’m aching to connect my fist with Carl’s face.

“I’m gonna see if she needs a hand.” I’m already standing so Sam can’t stop me. I at least have the sense to give him a look like I’m going to go ask her some questions. I need to appease him to avoid too many questions myself later.

I am going to ask you some things. Sam doesn’t need to know that they’re not about the case though.

When I walk into your kitchen I instantly regret my decision. This is your space and I should have knocked. I offer my services immediately to make amends, “can I help with anything?”

You must not get asked that a lot considering the confusion as you turn your head. “Erm, no it’s fine. I’m just… making some coffee.”

All FBI pretense flies out the window as I nod at the bread on the counter. “See here’s where you’re confused, that right there is a sandwich.”

“Would you believe I’m a chef?” If I wasn’t standing parallel with you now I’d miss the little smile on your face, the first one I’ve seen all day.

“That depends on how good the sandwich is.”

You laugh like you had the first time I’d come here to see you. I hadn’t heard it then, I’d only seen it and wondered what it sounded like. This time your hair tumbles over your shoulders as your head falls back. All the better to release the sound into the air. I don’t even care if they hear you next door. Let our cover go to hell if you keep laughing like that.

“This is going to sound crazy, to an FBI agent anyway, but I swear I know you from somewhere.”

You say it while stealing glances at me. And you steal glances at me while your hands keep moving, even with a knife in them. I didn’t expect it to come around so quickly, this test. This is when I find out if I’m crazy. Did we actually connect or is it all in my head? Somehow, I manage to keep my mouth shut, egging you on with a confused look like I’m trying to remember.

“Oh my god. You came to the diner, right? Two slices of pie and didn’t rate my burger.” You're smug for remembering first.

Now you’re pointing the knife in my direction with a grin on your face. If I didn’t know any better, I’m about to be murdered for my burger review.

My head half cocks in your direction, “that was you?”

It’s fucking heartbreaking, seeing the idea of me forgetting you and how you stumble over it. The same way you’d slumped when Carl spoke to you. Shit, I’m not him and you should know you’re better than that. Screw the car and your house, that’s what I need to work on. Making you believe you’re better.

You manage to shake off the self-doubt, although you replace it with self-depreciation. “I’m normally a mess at work so I guess you might not recognize me.”

“You weren’t a mess.” The space between us is a little smaller now to match the sincerity in my words. It’s the closest I’ve stood to you and the furthest away I want to be. “And that burger was top three, promise.”

The light returns to your face. The smile becomes genuine. Your hands stop moving. That connection is there again. The one I know you feel too because you remembered me.

And the coffee maker beeps in the background, interrupting.

I’d be mad about it if this was the right time for something more, anything. It’s not. Carl’s still in the other room and you’re still attached to him like a tetherball. No matter how much he knocks you for six, you swing around and come back for more. It’s ok because I’m here now and I know that this isn’t in my head. We connected over a crappy diner countertop and now I’m going to take care of everything. I’ll show you how you deserve to be treated Y/N.

I’m going to save you.

“How do you know Kelly Gray?”

I barge through the door he was stupid enough to open a crack. Carl doesn’t call out the fact that I’m not in my suit because I’ve established I’m the good guy already. But his face does lose all its color at the name. He's going straight past defensive to confrontational, “hey, you can’t just come in here!”

“I can if you want to stay alive now let’s try this again. How do you know Kelly Gray?”

My volume calls you from wherever you were like a moth to a flame. Or is my voice a beacon to you regardless of its loudness? Either way, you wander in, “what’s going on...?” There’s no concern in your voice because whether you know it or not you trust me, you're curious is all.

Carl starts to crowd you before you can even say hello, which pisses me off. I haven’t heard you say hello yet. Not to me. Our meetings have been me as a customer and then an authority figure. This time could have been different. You might have said hello.

“Babe, this jerk is just leaving. Don’t worry about it. Go back to the kitchen.”

“I wasn’t in the… what did he say about your life being in danger?”

I don’t know what’s worse. That this asshole assumes you’re always in the kitchen because that’s all he fucking knows about you. Or that he’s so goddamn stupid he’s trying to get rid of me when I’m here to save his life. For some reason.

Of course, you’re the only one who can actually throw me out. It’s your house, not Carls. And you’re not going to because you want to hear what I have to say. You’re more concerned about Carl than he’s concerned about himself. Your big heart is another thing I add to the reasons you deserve better. The reasons you're so good.

“Answer the damn question you son of a bitch.” Guess my FBI cover is shot to hell but at this point, I’m not losing any sleep over it. Sam’s hunting down the witch, I’m just making sure this idiot isn’t on the list for the same reason as her other hits.

He looks at me pathetically, like I'll have mercy on him. But I don’t know what he’s going to say yet, so I’ve got no idea what hope he’s holding out for.

“I knew of her, ok? The guys they all knew her. I- I just knew about her. Never met her.” Carl looks anywhere but at me while he lies.

It all starts making sense now. I know what got those other guys killed. I know why Kelly went looking in magic books for revenge. And now I know Carl was involved.

It would be kinder to encourage you out the room. Some case confidentiality thing. Then again, you need to hear this. You need the truth.

Squaring up to Carl is easy, especially now I know he really is a piece of shit. Not just for having you and making you so much smaller than you should be. Now I know Carl had you and still felt the need to get his dick wet somewhere else.

“I can’t help you if lie to me. Now Kelly? Sure, she’s a little crazy but she also killed your friends. Can you think of any reason she might have it in for you as well, Carl? If not, I can leave right now but you better think real hard about your answer.”

His eyes dart between the width of my shoulders wondering if he can take me before he decides he’s got no chance. Not completely brain dead. Then he gulps slowly and for once, does the right thing. “Yeah, ok. I knew her.”

In facing off with this prick I almost forgot you were there. He’s trained you into silence in your own home. Carl hasn’t forgotten because he trusts in your constant presence; quiet and dutiful, always. That’s why he doesn’t flinch when you speak.

“Who is she? What did the other guys- or you, what did you do?”

He looks at you for a good minute. His body is still facing me, still ready to fight me if necessary. He’s looking at you like it might be his last chance to. Could it be Carl actually has some sense hidden away under the seven layers of dumbass?

He doesn’t answer your question until he looks back at me. He tells me the answer because he can’t tell you.

“Kelly Gray is just a hooker that we all, well, you know. But Andy he- he didn’t pay up and then we all wanted to...things got out of control.” His voice is too hard and despite what he did he’s looking at me like it’s my fault for making him spit it out.

You gasp. It’s a tiny noise, nothing really. Although in the wake of Carl's confession, it might as well be a foghorn.

Where I’d normally be yelling at this charmer I look at you instead because I need to check on you. Your chin wobbles and there’s a quiver in your lip. All I want to do take you away from him, but still, you needed to know. It’s the only way you’ll ever move on from this bag of dicks who actually went looking for a way to cheat on you.

“Y/N…” He starts like there’s something he could say that would make this better.

You hold up a hand to stop him. He doesn’t just stop talking. He clutches at his throat suddenly, clawing at it actually, like he’s trying to pry it open from the outside.

“I… can’t…. breathe…” he wheezes. He’s hard to understand but not difficult to work out.

You step back, eyes widening.

Carl’s sudden asphyxiation lights the spark of anger in me that I’ve been holding back. I've seen too much of this case. I've seen what the other guys did. And suddenly I'm pissed. “Is this what you did to her? Try to choke her? Your buddies all died the way they lived. They died doing what they did to Kelly.”

But he is still choking. Unable to answer me or even react. He can’t feel guilty while he’s dying and I have to let him slip from my grasp. I don’t often root for the witch, by that I mean I never do. In this case, she might deserve a little revenge.

A blur rushes past me and steps between me and him. I realize it’s you. You pat his back and try to do all the things people do when someone is choking for non-magical reasons. “We’ve got to help him.”

My silence doesn’t slow you down as you try to wrap your arms around him and Heimlich the spell out. The fact that nothing is helping doesn’t seem to slow your roll either.

“Y/N!” The snap of my tone gets your attention.

“We need to help him!” You plead with a desperation that I resent. Desperation Carl doesn't deserve.

You’re right though. I need to save them all. The good, the bad and the fucking disgusting. Looking into your worried face is how I remember that I save people. That’s why I’m here in the first place.

“Y/N, I don’t have time to explain but this is a spell. We need to find the hex bag to stop it. It’ll be hidden somewhere, an um, a small material bag.”

“What? What are you talking about?”

Carl’s still standing there choking, fading at the edges. I grab you for your attention over him. Both hands on your shoulders trying to will some sense in you. At the same time, I'm trying to remember the reasons why I have to let you go eventually. “Y/N if you want to save his life I need you to look. Look around anywhere something small could be hidden. Move. Now.”

I hate barking orders at you but I’d hate it more if it didn’t work. Luckily it does. You nod and start pulling books out of the small bookshelf in the corner of the room.

This is your first rodeo, your last too if I get my way, so you have no idea what you’re looking for. You’re destroying more of your stuff than you need to while Carl’s gargles are the soundtrack to the room.

I know what I’m doing. My fingers feel down the edges of your sofa cushions while I text Sam that Carl is target number four. My hands sweep all the small spaces quickly. Behind the back of your DVR, I finally feel it. A lumpy piece of soft material.

I pull it out in my clenched fist, still out of sight, not that you’re looking in my direction. It’s heavier than normal but that might be because of the guy this particular hex bag is trying to kill. The lighter in my pocket is heavier still, it’s cold and unforgiving in my other hand.

God knows how long I stand there trapped in indecision. The metal of my lighter digs into my skin for how hard I’m pressing at the cap, teetering on the edge of flicking it open. Deep down I know I shouldn’t be hesitating. A flick of my thumb and it’ll be over, Carl will be saved.

But what about you?

How will I save you if he’s still alive? After this, you won’t be able to leave him even after what he admitted. You’re too damn loyal.

Carl’s close to the end now. He’s been struggling for oxygen too long. His skin is taking on a sickly color. I have seconds to save him, seconds. And in those seconds I figure it out. I figure everything out.

“You found anything Y/N?” I holler while the hex bag gets tucked into my pocket, my lighter returned to the other.

You shake your head, fear drenching you head to toe. I’ve forgotten how harrowing this must be for a civilian. Not just the dying person in front of you but trying to comprehend that there’s nothing you can do to save him. Only I can save him, and I have no intentions of doing that. My decision is set in stone. Sam might be able to help but he’d have to be driving a knife into the witch as we speak. I doubt he is considering the phone in my pocket beeps.

Even Sam knows not to text and stab.

Carl’s on his knees now and trying to keep himself up. “Oh god, he’s going to- I can’t watch this.” You turn to face the wall and wrap yourself up in your own arms. Hugging yourself as you collapse against the wallpaper. You can’t move out of the room, but you can’t watch so instead you exist in this limbo where you’re forced to listen.

It kills me you didn’t come to me, still, I get it. You’re not ready for that yet. I can wait and be patient because eventually, you’ll fall into me when you’re scared.

He takes one last shuddering attempt at sucking in air. It’s worse than his other efforts because even he seems to know that this one will be his last. There’s a noise that comes out of his throat that’s more than a closed windpipe. It’s hopeless and on the brink of death.

Carl is about to die, and you’re curled into the wall, so no one is watching the small smile on my face. It’s barely there but it’s there enough. A witch killed him, end of story. I just made sure that it happened. I made sure of it for you.

At some point, you get up and walk into the kitchen without looking back. I call Sam, he’s killed the witch because it had to be done no matter her reasons. I tell him Carl is dead and Sam sounds frustrated at having lost someone. Even after I tell him what Carl did, Sam still says he didn’t deserve to die like that.

I knew Sam wouldn’t understand which is why I don’t tell him about the hex bag I'm carrying around.

For the second time, I come into the kitchen without knocking. You’re sitting at the table staring into the darkness of the room. Only when I make it to the other side of the table do I see the silent tears rolling down your face.

“Y/N?” I don’t know how far into nothingness you’re looking so I announce myself despite standing in front of you.

Sadness has settled in your soul. I want to ask if this is for Carl or because you've experienced something that most people never do. I don’t ask because I don’t want to scare you. Or I'm afraid of the answer. Probably both.

There’s bottled water in the refrigerator and I have no idea where you keep your booze. You need something stronger but more importantly, you need something. You need anything to do with your hands while I tell you what I'm about to.

“We don’t need to talk about everything, but we need to talk about some of it.” I’m trying to be balanced, not too soft and not too cold. I might be coming off as unfeeling.

“You said a witch killed him. A witch?” The calm in your voice is eerie although you’re not looking at me so it's slightly less creepy. Instead, you’re watching your nails pick at the label on your plastic bottle.

“Yeah. My brother took care of her.” It’s the safest way to say he ganked Kelly. You’ve had enough death for one day. “But not in time. I’m sorry.” I’m not. “Witches are real and this one wanted revenge.”

You take a minute to absorb this. “Your FBI badge isn’t real.”

I’d chuckle if it was appropriate right now. You're not ready to joke about these things yet. “No, but this is what I do. Hunting and killing bad guys, bad things. Sometimes I need to pretend to get the job done.”

“What do I need to do now?”

You’re in shock, I get that, but you’re handling this too well and it’s freaking me out a little. I’m waiting for you to break so that I can pick up the pieces, but you refuse to fall apart.

“Let me walk out of here and then call the cops. His death- it’ll look natural. They’ll take him away.”

“And then what? I wake up tomorrow morning and have coffee where he… I’m sorry that’s not. That’s- it’s not your fault. I-I’m not your responsibility. I’m sorry.”

Oh, what you don’t know. You’ve been my responsibility since the minute I saw you. And you haven’t once questioned me walking out of here. That’s a given. You don’t understand what’s happening and your world has changed in a way that you don't understand. But you trust that I’m the good guy in the same way I trust you not to break me.

There’s a long silence. You drink some of your water swallowing more than necessary. Making sure you still can. I try to explain that the witch can’t hurt you in the same way she did Carl, hex bags don’t work like that. They're personal. But I can’t. Those aren’t the words on the tip of my tongue. The words I want to say are a big step forward. Too fast and too much. More than I would ever think about saying to anyone else.

You’re not anyone. You’re you. Y/N. You’re different and you're mine. Even if you reject me now I’ll know it’s because I asked too quickly. Rejection now will be nothing we can’t overcome in the future.

“If you want my brother and I, the guy you met, my partner? That’s my brother Sam. We have a place you could stay. Nothing weird, it’s just a safe place. Over in Lebanon, a military bunker. Might be good to get away for a few days?”

I’m not expecting a yes or anything close to it. I sound like a horny teenager or a puppy trying to rut against your leg. Your boyfriend, as much as it pains me to call him that, died in your living room twenty minutes ago.

“Do you do this for all the girls?”

It’s almost like there’s not a dead body next door, “only the special ones.”

“I know it’s crazy to even be thinking about it but a few days away would be good. I guess compared to witches a military bunker sounds normal.”

The word ‘good’ pains you to say and again I’m left wondering if you’re a little naïve. You have to be since you’re accepting my offer. I know I’m safe but how do you know that? Y/N is this why you’re mine? Because you need me to protect you from a world you trust too easily.

Suddenly ending up with Carl makes a lot more sense. It wasn’t only loneliness, you’re too trusting, too forgiving.

This once I’ll let it slide since it works in my favor.

Sam only asks once why we’re taking you home. He asks while we’re waiting down the street for the police to finish everything.

I tell him you need someplace safe to recover and he doesn’t say whatever he wants to in response.

It’s hours before we’re on the road and an hour and a half till we're home. The journey is familiar to me now. You don’t marvel at the bunker as much as most people do but you’re dead on your feet. Swaying like a breeze might knock you into unconsciousness.

I put you up in a room next to mine. You thank me not knowing the selfish reasons for my decision.

The jokes on me. Having you so close means I hear you cry yourself to sleep.

I want to tell you that you don’t need to worry. Everything here out will get better Y/N. I'll make sure of it.

Continue to Chapter 3

5eva tags: @divadinag @darthdeziewok @fluentinfiction @witch-of-letters @supernatural-teamfreewillpage Dean babes: @thewinchesterchronicles @akshi8278

#dean x reader #spn fanfic #supernatural fanfiction #dean winchester x reader #spn x reader #spn #supernatural #supernatural x reader #supernatural fanfic #dean x y/n #dean x you #dean winchester #MURDER(?)#the best tag #stalker au

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