Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

You walked along the now-familiar street, heading for the small diner on the corner. You didn’t technically need to eat, but you could still taste—and you just couldn’t get enough of their pie! You pulled open the diner door, the small bell signaling your entrance to the packed room. Finding an empty table near a window, you sat down and shrugged off your coat onto the back of the chair. One more meal in this little town, and you would be gone.
“What can I get ya?” the waitress asked, making you jump.
“Um, just the usual please, apple pie a la mode?” you asked, your voice just barely audible over the babble.
“Sure thing,” she replied, wandering off towards the kitchens.
You pulled your coat closer around you and kept your head down, letting your long, black hair shield your pale face. You also kept your right sleeve pulled down and held in your hand, to cover the marking on the underside of your wrist. If one wrong person recognized you…well, it was a fight you didn’t feel like having.

“Dean, this is a case! We’re here anyways, let’s just investigate it and see,” a brunette giant of a man said, walking through the door. He was speaking to a shorter man, with sandy blond-brown hair. Both had pretty green eyes, and you inconspicuously turned to look out the window with your head in your hand. They looked like feds—they were dressed like feds at least—and you kept watching them out of the corner of your eye. If you needed to run, it was good to have a head start, especially in your current incapacitated condition. You assumed the blond was “Dean”, since the brunette had addressed him as such.

Dean sighed in exasperation. “If we look into this, will you drop the subject?” he asked, looking thoroughly annoyed. The brunette nodded, his eyes big and puppy-like. You bit back a giggle. Dean muttered something akin to a “Fine,” and then proceeded to order a cheeseburger and cherry pie.

The waitress set your pie down with a dull thud, then asked, “Anything else?” You shook your head, just wanting her to move so you could watch these two intriguing men. She strutted over to the table next to theirs, blocking your view again. You ate in silence, enjoying the sweet taste of the pie as you subtly glared at her, willing her to move. At long last, she finished cleaning up and walked off to the kitchen, providing a clear view of the men.

“…random people showing up back home after missing for a few days, claiming being shot or attacked in alleys and such, but having no mark on them. I mean this thing doesn’t sound bad, but it could also be a demon going for easy pickings. Your soul for your health? Easy choice when you’re dying,” the brunette finished, taking a bite of his salad. Demons? You thought, straining your ears to hear more. Dean gave the brunette a dark look, then said, “I don’t think this thing is attacking people, Sam. It sounds more like normal, human people attack, and whatever this thing is saves them and sends them home.”

Your blood ran cold. They were after you, you knew it. You hid in this small town to recover and get your bearings before you started looking for your mate, and possibly any of your surviving kin. You had found a sort of solace in wandering the town at night, paying special attention to back alleys and dark corners, and healing those who had been attacked by robbers and criminals. You didn’t think it would attract much attention from anyone, much less two hunters, but here they were. Your hands shook as you forced down the last of your pie, now actively trying not to seem suspicious. Normally you wouldn’t be too concerned, but you were weak, and you knew it. Any other time, you could have beaten them in the first few minutes of a fight, but not today. You stood up, tossed a few dollars onto the table as a tip, and went to pay at the front desk. You now didn’t care what else they had to say. You needed to go. You were just finishing up fixing a motorcycle to leave on before you came here for a snack, all you needed were to tighten a few things and put the saddlebags on, and you would be gone, leaving the hunters in the dust.

You left the diner, trying not to walk too fast while you were in anyone’s line of sight. The anxiety knotting your stomach was terrible, and you curled your hands into white-knuckled fists in your pockets. The second you were past the shop next to the diner, you broke into a full-on sprint. You ran two blocks and took a sharp right, running to the end of the street and turning left. You were staying in the garage of an abandoned house that hadn’t been put up for sale yet, and you ran inside as quickly as possible, slamming the door and throwing the deadbolt. You fumbled for the wrench you needed, not bothering to take your long, black, mid-calf coat off. Finding it, you tightened the things you needed to, then flung the saddlebags over the back where they were supposed to go. You wrenched up the garage door, and after almost dropping the key twice, you unlocked the motorcycle. You thrust the key in your pocket and clicked the ignition, your hands trying to forget how to work. The bike started up beautifully, and after checking what you needed to, you took off out of the garage, not bothering to stop at the end of the driveway.

Halfway down the side street, you passed a well-kept ’67 Chevy Impala going the other direction. You could have sworn you saw the hunters from the diner inside, but you were too focused on getting out of there to think about it. As soon as you got to the main street, you sped up exponentially, trying to reach the freeway entrance before they figured out you were gone. Glancing in your rearview mirror, you knew it was too late. You saw the Impala pull out of the side street faster than it would if it was any normal person driving it. The entrance ramp light was yellow, and you knew it was about to turn red. You kept going anyway, racing through the intersection and up the ramp just as the light turned to red.

You looked back again, and to your horror, you saw the Impala run the red light just before cars started crossing. You were already going 75, and you knew that if you were to try going faster, you could very well lose control of the bike. You tried to stay calm as you heard the purr of the Impala’s engine creeping closer by the second. You had a sneaky suspicion they were going to tail you until you stopped. You could have outrun them if both your primary and reserve tanks were full, but you only had a quarter of your reserve tank left, and none in your primary. You couldn’t even try to get off the freeway and shake them off; the next exit wasn’t for another five miles, at least, and the one after it was another 12 miles off. You had meant to get gas before you left, but given the circumstances, you completely forgot. You passed the first exit, making it look like you knew where you were going. During your time in town you had come out here to scout, get an idea for landmarks and plan where you were going to go. You had found out that the ground leveled out by the freeway at the second exit, and though you didn’t have quite enough gas to get there, it was your best chance of escape. Taking the off-ramp would be futile if you ran out of gas before you got there, you wouldn’t be able to lose them and find a gas station in time.

The sign for the next exit came into view as a speck on the horizon. You were surprised that you could actually see it, given the huge branches on the giant Ponderosa pines that made up the forest lining the road on both sides. You glanced at your gas gauge—1/8 of the tank left, and the gas light on. You sighed, knowing your time on the bike was almost out. You started slowing down minutely, trying not to alert the hunters in the Impala. The next exit sign was coming rapidly into view, and you were still trying to get as far as you could on the little gas you had. The bike’s engine suddenly cut, and you had enough momentum to get to somewhat level ground—you were cruising at 65, your speed gradually dropping. You took a leap of faith and charged the guardrail, flipping both you and the bike over it. You jumped clear of the bike, but instead of the somewhat smooth, level landing you expected, you landed at an angle on the beginning dip of a hill. You tumbled down it, hearing the bike making sickening metallic crunches as it somersaulted down the hill in the opposite direction. You didn’t have time to dwell on that fact, considering you were trying to keep yourself from slamming into a tree. It felt like every little twig and stone jabbed you as you rolled. Eventually, you crashed into the underbrush by a small creek at the base of the hill. As much as you wanted to run, you were simply too dazed to. Major falls didn’t affect you the way they would a human, which is the only reason you got away with what you did, but it could still make you too dizzy and dazed to move for a bit. At the moment, you were all but unconscious.

You heard two pairs of boots crunching through the dirt, coming straight for you, but you couldn’t shake the pull of sleep enough to run anywhere. You closed your eyes quickly, to help give the image that you were unconscious. “Here’s the bike…or what’s left of it,” one of the voices said. It was too far away, too muffled to make out who said it. I must’ve hit my head hard enough to mess up my hearing, you thought, straining to hear any forest sounds. “And here’s its rider.” That was the blond one, Dean. He still sounded like he was talking underwater, but at least you could hear what he said. You kept your eyes closed, pretending to be unconscious. “What should we do with her?” the tall brunette asked. “We’ll take her back to the motel, and talk to her when she wakes up. Get her feet, I’ll get her shoulders. Looks like you were right, Sam, there is a case here. Look, there’s not a scratch on her.” Sam. The brunette is called Sam. That was your last thought before you actually fell unconscious.

Chapter Text

You awoke on a bed in an empty motel room, the only source of light being the small table lamps on either side of the bed. You moved to sit up, but found yourself handcuffed to the bed frame, your legs tied together with a few belts. ‘They really want to make sure I don’t run off, don’t they? Unless it’s just so they can give me a slow, painful death,’ you mused, slamming your head onto the uncomfortably firm pillow. You instantly regretted this action, as your head slammed down on a particularly painful bruise. You felt pathetic; at one time, you could have snapped these restraints as easily as if they were made of dry spaghetti, already healed and ready to fight. Now here you lay, helplessly weak, at the mercy of two hunters. ‘What a way to end the day,’ you thought with a huff.

The door opened with a loud creak, the sound of pouring rain acting as a background for the two hunters’ voices. You snapped your eyes shut and forced your muscles to relax, taking deep, slow, deliberate breaths. “You think she’s awake?” Sam asked, closing the door quietly. “If she’s not, we’ll wake her up,” Dean answered, flicking on the main light. You fought hard to keep from squinting as the bright light assaulted your eyes through your eyelids. You heard the hunters pulling chairs, scraping as if things were being drawn, and water being poured into a glass.

“Wakey wakey,” Dean said, throwing the glass of water onto you. You jolted in surprise, opening your eyes and glaring at him through the water dripping off your hair. “Not a demon,” he said to Sam, who was holding a small bowl. He tossed its contents at you, and the rock salt flew to join the holy water in your hair, and where it had dripped on your shirt. “Not anything affected by salt either,” he said thoughtfully. You were in a bad mood to begin with, but this was both feet over the line. You wanted to screech at them, but you knew it would only make them treat you less like a person and more like a creature. “Where am I, and what the hell do you want? Also, if you think this little tar-and-feathering act is funny, it’s not,” you spat, with venom in every word.

“You’re in no position to be making demands right now. We ask the questions, you answer them. Got it?” Dean asked, his face stoic and his arms crossed. You glared at him, and you could have sworn you saw Sam take a cautious step back. “What’s your name?” he demanded, unfazed by your anger. “Why does that matter, Dean?” you asked back, putting extra emphasis on his name. His fearless façade faltered, and Sam was instantly on alert. “How do you know my name?” he practically yelled, holding a demon blade to your throat. “I tend to be rather observant. Your friend over there said it as you were walking into the diner earlier,” you replied, a triumphant smirk on your face. You didn’t stop there, turning to look at Sam and saying, “And if I recall correctly, your name is Sam, isn’t it?” You had an edge now. They didn’t know what you knew, and you could use that to your advantage.
Dean removed the blade and tossed it on the bedside table, the metal making a dull clunk as it collided with the wood. “Listen,” Sam started, kneeling next to the bed, “We’re just trying to figure out who you are and why you were there. That’s all.” You snorted derisively and said, “And then figure out how to kill me. You hunters are all the same, you see something nonhuman, it has to die.” Sam pulled back, and you saw something change in Dean’s eyes. “Can we know what you were doing in that town? Why you were healing strangers?” Sam asked, his tone significantly gentler. You sighed, knowing that you had lost any edge you had before. These two were relentless, and you knew that they would find some way to get the answers they wanted.

Rolling your eyes, you decided that you would pull the last few strings you had. “Tell you what. I’ll answer your questions, one at a time, but only after you undo one of these restraints. That gives you five questions you can get answers to, and if—and I mean if—you are nice, I might be willing to stay and answer a few extra.” ‘There, that should do it. ‘ you thought, staring at Dean with an even gaze. He gave a deep, frustrated sigh, and replied, “You bargain like a demon. Fine, one restraint per question. On one condition.” You raised an eyebrow questioningly. “You don’t run, or teleport, or…whatever you do, before you answer the last question. Got it?” he said. You knew he was just trying to gain some kind of power back, so you replied coolly, “A deal’s a deal, and I was intending to honor it anyway. Just don’t go jumping at me when we’re done here.” Dean nodded, then said, “Belt,” to Sam. Sam gave him an incredulous look, but moved to remove one of the belts from your legs.

As soon as it was gone, Dean asked, “What is your name?” You laughed internally, thinking, ‘Back to square one.’ “(y/n).” you deadpanned. Dean nodded towards your legs again, and Sam undid the next belt. “What’s that mark?” he asked, keeping his voice pleasant. He was referring to the mark on your arm, the jet black filigree design that caused you so much shame. “I don’t know. It’s been there as long as I can remember, but it’s never done or caused anything. At this point I’d believe I won the birthmark jackpot,” you said. It was a lie. You knew exactly how it got there, what it meant, but it wasn’t their business. He believed your lie (truth be told you had always been a great liar), and nodded to your legs once more. As the final belt slid off, you stretched your legs, reveling in their new freedom. “Why were you in that town, specifically?” he said, tossing the belts across the room. “It was the closest town I could find. I woke up in a field not far from there,” you said, blinking twice. You were telling half-truths now, trying to protect your backstory for as long as possible. “I was planning to leave today anyway, but you guys chased me out before I could fill up my tanks,” you finished, mixing a bit of good humor into your voice to diffuse any tension. Sam laughed through his nose, giving a small smile. “Where were you planning to go, out of curiosity?” he asked, leaning on the footboard. You raised an eyebrow quizzically, and then glanced toward your left wrist. Sam unlocked it before Dean asked him to, and your elbow gave a loud pop as you bent it. “I have to find some people to help me find someone,” you stated simply, only realizing how uninformative that answer was after you said it. Dean’s eyebrows furrowed in confusion before he raised one, silently asking for some clarification. “Ironically, I was going to go and see if I could find a pair of hunters. They know the person I’m looking for, and I was going to see if they could help me find said person.” ‘There, that was a bit better,’ you said to yourself. Dean nodded and looked at your right wrist, and you could see his internal debate for the last question written on his face. You thought he might ask what you were, maybe more about your past, but when Sam clicked the last cuff open, Dean asked, “Which hunters were you looking for?”

This caught you off guard. You looked him in the eye and said, “The Winchesters. You know them?”

Sam and Dean exchanged a look. “Since you were nice, I’m willing to answer a few more questions,” you said, jumping off the bed. You stretched, and as you looked up, you saw a demon trap drawn on the ceiling. The two hunters turned to look at you as you sat on the footboard, balancing delicately on the thin ledge and swinging your feet so they bounced off the end.

You didn’t know what significance the name Winchester held to them, but whatever it was, it got their full attention. “What did you say your name was again?” Dean asked, giving you an odd look. “(y/n),” you replied slowly, wondering why he was asking twice. Sam cleared his throat and said, “Well, (y/n), it’s nice to meet you. We’re the Winchesters, you know our first names already. Sorry we got off on the wrong foot.” He extended a hand and you shook it, thoroughly confused. “Who are you looking for?” Dean asked, shaking your hand as well.

Chapter Text

“Castiel,” was your bright reply. Sam and Dean exchanged another look, this time wary. “Why do you want to find him?” Sam asked, crossing his arms. ‘I messed up, I messed up!’ you thought, and then replied, “I just need to. I need to talk to him. The subject is between him and me, if you don’t mind.” Sam clenched his jaw, and Dean took a couple steps towards you. “How do we know you aren’t out for his blood? Pretty much everyone has been hunting him down for months!” He growled, daring you to make a move. Your eyes widened when he said “out for his blood” and “hunting him down.” “Please, I don’t care if you guys helicopter like overbearing mothers, just please, please let me see him,” you begged, pulling out your best puppy-eyes the way Sam did at the diner. You even managed to conjure up some tears, to make the emotion that much more powerful. It wasn’t that you weren’t worried about Cas, you just needed some influential crocodile tears. Even in your weakened state, you would still be willing to fight these two to get to him.
Dean sighed, and Sam looked back and forth between you. “Dean?” he asked, obviously not wanting to let you see Castiel. “We’ll be in the same room Sam, if anything goes wrong we can handle it,” Dean said defensively. He turned and pointed at you, saying “You, get in the back of the car. We’ll let you see Cas, but we will be keeping a very close eye on you.” He emphasized the word very, narrowing his eyes as he did so. Sam threw up his hands in defeat, stalking off into the kitchen. You moved to help Dean pack their things, but he stuffed their things in their bags before you could pick them up. Sam emerged from the kitchen, carrying a cooler of water bottles and beer that were submerged in ice. Dean tossed the bags over his shoulder and opened the door, holding it for Sam, then you. Considering their earlier behavior, you half-expected him to drop it as you walked out.

The rain was still pouring, and the gutters overflowed in waterfalls. A thick fallen branch split the wall of water, and you all walked through the gap. The Impala was parked just outside, barely visible through the torrent of rain. You heard Dean curse under his breath and mutter, “I just washed her too.” “Welcome to Washington,” you said, making your way over to the car. Dean unlocked the doors, tossing his and Sam’s bags in the far leg-room area of the backseat. Sam slid the cooler over to the far side of the seat, and Dean motioned for you to get in. You obliged, now thoroughly soaked, and Dean shut the door with a slam. They climbed in and shut their doors simultaneously, buckling their seatbelts quickly. “There’s a few towels under the seat. Dry yourself off so you don’t ruin the leather,” Dean said gruffly. You grabbed a couple of the towels, sitting on one and using the other to dry your hair. Even though it was soaked through, you could still make out the ringlets that formed when it dried.

Dean started the car, slipping a tape into the tape deck. Back In Black by AC/DC began blaring through the speakers, and you barely heard Sam say “Again?” “Driver picks the music, shotgun shuts his cakehole,” Dean replied, chuckling at the look Sam threw him. You draped the towel you were using on your hair around your shoulders, buckling your own seatbelt as Dean pulled out of the parking space. The windshield wipers worked frantically against the sheets of rain, and you could barely make out anything through the rivulets that ran down your window. You could tell when Dean entered the freeway again, as the rain appeared to form a sheet of white water outside. “Out of curiosity, what happened to my bike?” you asked, attempting to start a conversation. If you couldn’t see outside, you might as well talk to the people you’re riding with. “It was totaled, we called a tow truck to come pick it up,” Sam replied, his gaze locked on the road. “A tow truck?” you asked, eyebrows raised. “Yup. Apparently so many people in that tiny town use motorcycles, they have a specialty truck to come pick them up when they get in accidents,” Sam continued. You nodded, glancing out the window again.

“You remind me of someone, but I can’t place it,” Sam said, glancing back at you. You shrugged, looking back to him. “Well, we know we haven’t met before today,” you offered. “Can you hand me a beer?” Dean asked you, glancing in the rearview mirror as you opened the cooler. You handed him the freezing can, and held out a cold water bottle to Sam. “Thanks,” they said as you closed the cooler and flipped the little latch. The rain hadn’t let up much, but you could see enough to know you weren’t in a forest anymore. “So where’re we going?” you asked, looking back and forth between the brothers. “Kansas,” was Dean’s short reply. Your clothes were dry enough by now that you removed the towel from your shoulders and the seat, folding them neatly and stacking them on the seat next to you. Looking around, you couldn’t see any weapons anywhere, save for the few that you knew they had thrown in their bags. ‘I thought they were supposed to be hunters,’ you thought. You would have asked where their supplies were, but you didn’t want them to be more suspicious of you than they already were. You leaned back in your seat, wedging yourself in the corner between the seat and the door, and closed your eyes. Your kind didn’t actually need sleep, but you had discovered that it sped up your recovery. You were still sore from the roll down the hill, but it faded as you dozed off to the sound of the rain.

You awoke to Sam shaking your shoulder. Looking outside, you saw that the rain had stopped, and it was now dark—with the exception of the bright neon motel lights. “Where are we?” you asked, disoriented. Kansas was a day from Wenatchee, Washington, you couldn’t be there yet. “Missoula, Montana,” Dean said as he opened the back door to grab their bags. You nodded and got out of the car, stretching your legs. “What time is it?” you asked, following them to the front office. “Sometime around eight. We’ll drop our bags in the room, eat dinner at the diner down the street, and then come back here. We’ll head out early tomorrow, and hopefully we’ll be at the bunker before dark,” Dean said, opening the door. You all entered, and Sam rang the small bell on the desk. An elderly woman hobbled out of the back and squinted at the three of you through her white, cataract eyes. “How many?” she asked, her voice raspy. “Um, three please, for one night,” Sam asked politely. You assumed that she moved mostly by muscle memory now, as she felt along a key rack. Sam handed her the money as she set the key on the desk, and she dumped the money in a drawer. “Thanks for your business, enjoy your stay,” the lady said in a bored tone.

You followed the two to the room, #18. It wasn’t bad for a motel; it was in perfect order, save for the slightly peeling, floral wallpaper around the windows. There were two beds, a couch, a small rabbit-ear TV, a kitchenette, a mini-fridge, a bookshelf and a bathroom. You walked over and flopped on the couch, watching as the brothers unpacked. Sam left momentarily while Dean went to the bathroom, and before long he came back in with the cooler. He carefully stacked each bottle and can in the tiny mini-fridge, and lined up the ones that didn’t fit on top. Dean came out of the bathroom and grabbed a beer off the fridge, drinking it while he finished up with their bags. Sam dumped the cooler water in the bathtub, but didn’t expect the backsplash that drenched the legs of his jeans. You stifled a giggle—watching them sometimes was like watching a comedy routine. “You have to do anything before we go?” Dean asked you, glancing toward the bathroom as he shoved the bags and the rest of their contents under each bed. “Nope, I’m just waiting for you guys,” you replied, crossing your legs Indian-style and smiling. Sam came out of the bathroom in dry pants, and the three of you left for the diner.

The cool night breeze blew your hair behind your shoulders as you left the room. “Are we walking or driving?” You asked, not wanting to assume. “Walking. No point in wasting the gas, it’s literally three blocks away,” Dean replied, leading the way. You walked in a tight-knit group, staying as close together on the narrow sidewalk as possible. It wasn’t the best area of town, so straggling behind the others wasn’t very smart, or safe. Again you resented your current state of weakness, without which you could protect all three of you, but you could tell you were getting stronger by the day. A loud horn blared as a car sped up the side street, turning right just as the three of you were about to cross. The driver yelled at your group as he flew around the corner, but his closed windows blocked any sound. “Hey, watch it!” Dean snapped, but the car was already gone. “Figures,” you said sullenly, as you stepped down off the curb. “What do you mean?” Sam asked, Dean scowling in the direction the car went. “It was a Subaru,” you replied, making Dean snort with a short laugh. You crossed the last street before you reached a little diner. It was made to look like a log cabin, from the log siding all the way down to the false chimney that covered the grill vent. You walked past some wood-carved bears that held small “Welcome” signs, and you laughed to yourself. ‘This looks like a knockoff Black Bear Diner,’ you thought with a grin.

The door to the diner opened with an airlock-like hiss, and Sam held the door for you and Dean. The inside smelled like grilling burgers and barbecue sauce mixed with various soup smells. “Welcome to the Log Cabin Diner, just three of you tonight?” a cheery waitress asked. “Yup,” Dean said, flashing her a smile. She led your group to a booth in a back corner; it looked to be the only one that was completely empty. “Drinks?” she asked, whipping out her notepad and pen. “You have coke?” Dean asked, and the waitress jotted it down. She looked up at you with a questioning look, and you replied, “I’m good, thanks,” and she turned to Sam. “Water’s fine,” he said, setting his laptop on the table. The waitress wrote it down at record speed, trotting off to retrieve them. “Do you ever not have technology with you?” Dean asked Sam in annoyed tone. Sam glanced at him with an eyebrow raised before opening his laptop. Suddenly, loud Chinese music began blaring out of the speakers, and Sam slammed the laptop shut, silencing it. “Really, Dean? Again?” he hissed, an angry, embarrassed look on his face. Dean gave him a smirk, and though you had no idea what had just happened, it seemed to be something that happened on a regular basis.

The waitress returned with Sam and Deans’ drinks, set them down, and pulled out her notepad again. “You ready to order?” she asked, looking between each of you. “I’ll have a cheeseburger,” Dean said, looking to you. “I’m good,” you said, glancing to Sam. “Come on, (y/n), you should eat,” Dean said, looking at you with a confused expression. “I’m just not hungry,” you replied, shrugging and looking to Sam again. “I’ll have a salad,” he said, stuffing the laptop back in its bag. “I’ll be right back with that,” the waitress chirped, walking off again. You leaned over toward Dean and whispered, “I don’t actually need to eat.” He raised his eyebrows and nodded, and Sam looked at you confused. “She doesn’t have to eat,” Dean told him. “Oh,” Sam replied, and you leaned forward slightly. “I can eat, like I can taste and stuff, it’s just not required for me to survive. Same with sleep, though sleeping actually helps me heal faster, and it helps to pass the time,” you said quietly, careful not to attract the attention of the neighboring tables and booths. The brothers didn’t have time to respond before the waitress set down their food. “You sure you don’t want anything?” Sam asked, sprinkling vinaigrette over the salad. “No thanks, there’s no point in you guys wasting your money on me,” you said, sitting back against the cushions. The two ate quickly, and before long the waitress had returned with the receipt.

Dean paid, and the three of you left the diner. “Let’s see if we can get back without being run over,” Sam said sarcastically. You all made sure that no other cars were going to come out of nowhere before you crossed each street on the way back to the motel. Dean stopped to check over the Impala, causing Sam to roll his eyes. When he finished, you and Sam followed him back to the room. Sam and Dean took turns brushing their teeth and putting pajamas on (basically just a removal of their plaid flannel shirts and jackets), while you lay on the couch, staring at the ceiling. Finally, both brothers flopped onto their respective beds, shifting around to get comfortable. “Damn it, left the light on,” Dean said groaned irritably. You got up and flicked off the main light, the room now illuminated only by the neon sign outside. You closed the blinds as well, before flopping onto the couch and staring into the dark. A "Thanks" came from somewhere in the room, but it was too muffled for you to make out which brother said it.

You shifted around to get comfortable, a challenging task on the tiny couch, but somehow you managed. You didn’t like sleeping, but you knew it was the fastest road to recovery; however, you had discovered earlier, while Sam got the cooler and Dean took a bathroom break, that you were healing too fast for your current situation. You decided not to sleep tonight; hopefully it would stall your healing enough for you to get to Cas. It wasn’t that you didn’t want to completely heal—you knew that the brothers didn’t completely trust you, and you didn’t trust them enough to tell them what you were before it became obvious. You knew that if you told them, they wouldn’t let you explain anything else; they would either try to kill you, or leave you at the side of the road somewhere.

You stood up and wandered the motel room, keeping your footsteps quiet enough not to wake Sam and Dean. You could see in the dark—a nice bonus to being what you were. There was practically nothing in the kitchenette, only a mini-fridge and a tiny stove that looked like it was never used. In the bathroom, a simple white toilet stood before a tiny shower, which was masked by the ugliest dollar-store shower curtain you had ever seen; the worst part was that it was reflected in the cheap rectangular mirror over the sink. That was small too, with a rusty drain-plug, and you decided that the owner had gone for low-cost rather than quality when furnishing this motel. ‘At least there aren’t roaches,’ you thought, meandering back into the main room. A short bookshelf caught your eye, and you slunk over to investigate it. There were some titles you didn’t recognize, but you found the first book of the Mortal Instruments, The City of Bones, tucked on the bottom shelf. You pulled it out eagerly and, after shifting the blinds to give you a ray of light, you began to read away the long hours until morning.

Chapter Text

This is still on hiatus!! I haven't gotten a chance to watch Supernatural after the last actual chapter got posted, so I'm kind of flailing until I can rewatch things!!
I promise I haven't given up on this work, even though its been literally one year to the day since I've updated!!

Happy mother's day guys!!

Chapter Text

You finished the book at six in the morning, and the sun had just begun to rise. You put it back in its place, stretching and popping your joints. Sam and Dean’s loud snores echoed in the small room, and you decided that getting them breakfast might be a good idea. Finding paper and a pencil in the nightstand, you wrote a note that read:

Sam and Dean,
Gone to get breakfast for you at the diner, its 6 in the morning right now, I’ll be back soon!
—(y/n)

You put the paper on the nightstand and crept across the room, searching Dean’s jacket pockets for the room key. You found it quickly and snuck across the room to the door, silently unlocking it and slipping out. It closed with a hushed click, and you relocked it. Getting breakfast would be pointless if someone broke in and kidnapped or killed them. You stuffed your hands in your coat pockets as you started walking toward the diner, your breath leaving frosty clouds in the air as you walked. The street was completely absent of cars, and it was a bit creepy, but it didn’t disturb you. You liked peace and quiet when you could get it. You reached the diner and saw that the lights were all off. You tried the door to no avail. ‘Dang it,’ you thought, as you realized they weren’t open yet. Just as you turned to leave, the diner door opened behind you. “You here for breakfast?” a waiter asked hurriedly. “I was, but it looked like you guys were closed,” you replied, now confused. “Technically we don’t open until six-thirty, since nobody but us are usually leaving for work yet, but we have some food made if you’d like to order something,” he said with a smile. You nodded, and he stood back so you could enter. “What can I get you?” he asked, order slip and pen at the ready. You picked up a menu, looking at the options for breakfast. You had also forgotten to consider that you didn’t know what they’d want to eat. “Can I get two orders of French toast, with bacon and scrambled eggs on both, to go?” you asked, placing the menu back on the table. “Yup! Be right back!” he jabbered, before practically running back into the kitchen. The first ray of sunlight peeked over the mountains, bathing the inside of the restaurant in gold. You heard foam boxes closing and paper bags crinkling, and the waiter scurried back out of the kitchen with two bags of food. “That’ll be $16,” he said, thrusting the bags into your hand. You drew a 20 from the inside pocket of your coat and handed it to the waiter, who took it to the cash register and withdrew a four. He handed the change to you, saying a hurried “Thank you!” as you left. The first few cars were starting to drive down the road as you walked back to motel. You stuck the change in your inside jacket pocket with the rest of your money—honestly earned by working as a dog walker for a couple weeks back in Wenatchee.

You silently unlocked the door with a muffled click, slipping in quickly so the morning sunlight didn’t wake up the Winchesters. You relocked it and set the key on the nightstand, picking up and folding the note. Dean wasn’t in his bed, so you figured he had seen your note and then gone to the bathroom-the motel door was just as you had left it. You set the bags on the kitchenette counter, but as soon as you put your hand in one to pull out the food, you felt the cold sharpness of a blade at your throat.
“Don’t move. I don’t know what you are, and this blade might not kill you, but it’ll hurt like hell if I slice your throat open. Understood?” Dean growled in your ear from behind. You nodded, just barely, and he lifted the blade from your throat and stepped back. “What’s in the bag,” he said, keeping a firm yet quiet tone. You assumed he wouldn’t want to wake up Sam. “Breakfast,” you whispered back, just enough for him to hear. “Bullshit. Nowhere is open this early,” he replied, slowly beginning to advance with the knife. “The diner up the street let me in early for the takeout. My money too, so don’t get pissy,” you whispered again, internally laughing at the confused look on Dean’s face. Before he could move, you grabbed the bottom of the bags and pulled them just enough for the food to fall out, quietly enough not to disturb the sleeping moose on the other bed. Dean put the knife on the other counter and gave you an annoyed, yet grateful look. “Look, I have nothing out for you guys. You were nice enough to show me mercy instead of trying to kill me on the spot, so I was nice enough to get you both breakfasts. I won’t do anything to you as long as you’re both nice to me, okay?” Dean nodded, and with an acknowledging grunt, picked up the food off the counter. “Thanks,” he muttered, walking back over to the beds. He chucked Sam’s foam box at his chest, causing him to jump awake. He jolted up, disoriented, and looked genuinely shocked to see that you were still there. “Rise and shine, sleeping beauty,” Dean announced as Sam blinked a bit, his eyes adjusting.

10 hours later, you were miserable. You had been stuck in the back of the Impala for almost 11 hours, since Sam and Dean ate and repacked the car. You were bored, your legs were cramping, and you had no idea how two humans, in their 30’s nonetheless, could handle this kind of torture. You were this miserable and the meatsuit you had picked up in the morgue in Washington had to have been in her late teens, early twenties. Your mark still showed boldly on your skin though, it was the bane of your existence. “How long til we get there again?” you asked, nearly whining. “8 hours out,” Dean said, flicking the volume up louder. You hit your head on the back of the seat, rolling your eyes and being dramatic. “I’m gonna try to sleep,” you muttered, half to yourself, and stretched out on the backseat. You knew that there was a very good chance that you could heal completely if you slept, but you were so miserable at this point that you simply did not care anymore. You closed your eyes and drifted off, the sound of the Impala’s engine growing fainter.
You suddenly found yourself where you were months ago, right before everything happened. You heard the rumble, a cross between thunder and an earthquake, you remembered the birght flashes of light, and the searing pain. You felt the pain the most, and you cried out, but you never heard yourself scream. The pain was excruciating, blinding, and it felt like you were made of nothing but pain, until—
“(y/n), (y/n), wake up!!” a voice yelled at you. You jolted upright, coming back into the real world, gasping for air. You still felt the remnants of pain like electricity shooting over the surface of your skin, but you knew you were alright now. Dean put a hand on either side of your head and focused you, his green eyes boring straight into your ocean blue ones. “Are you alright?” he asked, concerned. You nodded, then said, “why?” Dean glanced at Sam, raised an eyebrow, and replied, “Uh, maybe because you were screaming bloody murder in the backseat?”
Your eyes widened a bit and you replied with, “Sorry, just a really bad dream.” Both boys looked doubtful, but you held your ground. “Might as well stay awake for the rest of the drive, we’re only 15 minutes out,” Dean said, releasing your face and gently shutting the door. Both brothers climbed back into the car, and you watched out the window as the nighttime scenery passed by. Sam glanced back often, keeping an eye on your haunted-looking face. You sat in deep thought, remembering the actual incident like it had happened only hours before.

Chapter Text

You watched the scenery fly by as the Impala flew down the rural road. It was getting late, and the last rays of sunlight had just disappeared under the edge of the horizon. Everyone had been silent since your nightmare, and nobody bothered to break the silence. Sam threw the occasional concerned glance back towards you, and you were sure you looked awful, but you didn’t really care—you were just trying to put the memories out of your mind.

You came out of your trance as the car began to slow down and pull off to the side of the road. You glanced at the boys, confused, but they didn’t acknowledge you if they noticed. Dean simply turned off the car and got out, and Sam followed suit. You stepped out into the warm summer air too, not entirely sure what was going on, but willing to help if need be. Despite having a nightmare, you could tell you were mostly healed and could stand a good chance in a fight. Sam opened the other rear door and got the cooler, and Dean got their bags. He threw the keys to you and said “Lock her up and come in when you’re done.” You raised a quizzical eyebrow and thought, ‘come in where?’ as you began to walk around the car, locking the doors and trunk as you went. You heard a loud metal creak as you finished, and whirled around to see an open metal door set in concrete.

You twirled the keys on your finger once before walking over to the door, your feet quietly crunching in the dirt. You heard the faint sound of Sam and Dean’s voices from inside, but you faltered before going in. ‘This seems too easy,’ you thought, a chill of suspicion running down your spine. You trusted the brothers about as much as you could at the moment, and you knew that if you needed to fight them, they wouldn’t stand too good of a chance against you, even though you weren’t up to your full strength yet. You took a breath, stood up a little straighter, and began walking down the metal stairs, each one making a loud clank with each step you took.

You got to the bottom of the first flight of stairs and walked onto the balcony—you realized that it was in fact a second floor, with an opening in the middle down to the second floor, surrounded by a wrought iron railing. You took a couple steps to your right and walked down a metal spiral staircase, the loud clanking echoing off the green and white walls. The bottom floor resembled a library—the middle of the room was open and spacious, with beautiful solid-wood tables and chairs in the middle, decorated with green-shaded lamps, and tall bookshelves lining the sides of the room. You saw many hallways that branched off of the main floor, and you wondered where they went, but in that moment you were more worried about where Sam and Dean had gone. You lightly sat on the edge of a table, taking in your surroundings. You were on high alert, listening intently for the smallest sounds, and watching for any sign of movement with your keen eyes. You heard muffled talking and shutting doors down one of the upstairs hallways, and soon Sam came into view.

“Take off your jacket and stay awhile,” Dean said from right behind you. You jumped and flipped around to look at him, wondering how he had managed to sneak up behind you so easily. You slightly narrowed your eyes at him as you cautiously slid off your long coat, revealing the black studded jeans and leather overbust corset underneath. It was a tailored corset that, surprisingly, didn’t show hardly any cleavage; low cut tops and revealing clothes weren’t really your style. Something about Dean’s gaze made you uneasy, you could sense that there was something different about him, darker than Sam. He looked over at his brother as he came down the stairs, and you felt the goosebumps begin to fade.

“Where are we?” you asked, trying to sound nonchalant. “Men of Letters bunker in Kansas” Dean replied, taking a sip of his beer. ‘Does he ever stop drinking,’ you wondered, before you looked back to Sam. “Dean,” he hissed, giving Dean the how-dare-you look. “What, she asked, and the way I see it, she has a right to know. If we didn’t want her knowing about this place, we wouldn’t have brought her here. It’s fine,” Dean said, glancing at you. Sam rolled his eyes and sighed through his nose, shaking his head at Dean. It was clear that they still didn’t trust you.

“Where’s Castiel?” you asked, your eyes flitting between the brothers.

Sam sighed and replied, “He’s here, but…..if you aren’t here to hurt him, you may not like what you see.”

You immediately became more concerned as you saw Dean’s face fall at Sam’s words. Sam motioned for you to follow and you obliged, nearly pacing his every step as he led you upstairs and down one of the many hallways. Dean walked a few steps behind you both. Sam stopped outside a door towards the end of the hallway and gave you a concerned glance. “Are you sure you want to see him?” Sam asked.

You looked him dead in the eye, took a deep breath, and replied,
“Yes.”

Chapter Text

Sam nodded, glanced at Dean, and gently pushed open the door. Your eyes immediately met Castiel’s, and his eyes widened in recognition. He opened his mouth to say something, but just as he did, his features twisted in pain. You rushed to his side before either brother could stop you. Placing your hands on either side of his face, you felt your healing powers shoot through your veins to your hands—but nothing happened. You sensed that whatever was wrong with him couldn’t be healed by your hand. He continued to shake violently, his breathing becoming rapid as small trails of blood trickled out of his eyes. You did the most you could do and held him protectively close, comforting him as he thrashed uncontrollably. After what seemed like forever, all his muscles relaxed, and you felt him go limp in your arms as he fell into unconsciousness once more. You carefully laid him down on the bed again, adjusting his neck so it wouldn’t be sore when he woke up, and gently covered him with the blanket. You kissed his forehead once, then silently stalked out of the room past the Winchesters.

Once you were in the hallway with his door closed, you turned on the brothers. “One of you, start explaining. Now. Who did this to him.” Your frigid blue eyes bored into theirs as they glanced between each other. Sam nodded at Dean, and you watched him as he walked past you and out onto the first floor. You heard his loud footsteps on the metal stairs as you crossed your arms and turned to look at Sam. He sighed and you raised an eyebrow, your face a mask of demanding indifference, your eyes silently daring him to try to lie to you. “You might want to sit down for this,” Sam started, but you immediately cut him off. “I don’t want to sit down, and I’m not going to sit down, Sam Winchester. I want to know exactly who did this to Castiel. I’ve been around long enough to know an attack dog curse when I see one, but even though I have my suspicions about the caster, I want to know for sure. So, I ask you again,” you said, proceeding to punctuate every word with a threatening space, “Who did this to Castiel.”

Sam nodded, acknowledging what you said, then proceeded to say, “Long story short, we captured a witch and she cursed Cas on her way out.” You narrowed your eyes ever so slightly and replied, “Who.” “Rowena,” he replied, clenching his jaw. You could tell he didn’t want to tell you, but you weren’t giving him much of a choice. You weren’t worried about their distrust in you anymore though, instead, a burning rage took over your chest and abdomen and your eyes flashed at the mention of the name. “I am going to kill that bitch,” you growled, spinning on your heel and speed-walking out of the hallway. Sam jogged behind you to keep up as you headed straight for the front door. “Wait—we don’t even know where she is, what she’s doing, or if she’s even on Earth; for all we know, she could be in Hell with Crowley right now,” Sam said, putting a hand on your shoulder. “Last I heard she hated her son, why would she be hanging around with him,” you asked, your voice nearly a seething snarl. “They’re working on something, we aren’t entirely sure what,” Sam said. “Just stay here for a while and calm down, talk to Cas a bit. It’s obvious he trusts you,” he finished, looking into your eyes. The look he gave you told you that even though he wouldn’t be risking his life anytime soon, he trusted you enough to be around one of his best friends. You rolled your eyes, sighed heavily, and gave him a frustrated scowl. “Fine. But the minute we know where she is, I’m going to find her, bring her back, and do what it takes to force her to help Castiel,” you said, your tone promising your statement.\

You changed course and walked down the spiral staircase, Sam following close behind. You sat down at one of the tables and rested your forehead on your crossed arms, cooling down from your sudden rage. He sat down across the table, silently studying you. You moved your head to look at him with an eyebrow raised. “Why are you so concerned about Cas?” Sam asked, furrowing his eyebrows. You sensed that Dean was listening in, wherever he was in the room. You sighed as you sat up, stretching your back and popping your neck before replying. Dean stepped out from behind the bookcase across the room and sat next to Sam. “I’m his mate,” you deadpanned. Sam’s eyebrows shot up, and Dean replied, “You’re his what?” You laughed quietly and said, “His mate, the equivalent of a human wife. I’m an angel of the lord, like him—actually that’s a bit complicated, but that’s a story for another time,” you said, smiling. “That’s why you wanted to find him so bad,” Dean said with an air of realization. You nodded, confirming his statement. “That’s also why I’m determined to find Rowena and make her pay for what she did to Castiel. Angels are highly protective of their mates and will do whatever it takes to avenge any wrongdoing towards them,” you said, the anger returning to your tone as soon as you thought about Rowena again. You shook off the wrath and looked back to the Winchesters. “I won’t kill her when we find her. You guys use her for whatever you need to, but when you’re done, I want to personally make her suffer, and then give her a nice place in an eternal torment,” you said coldly. Both Sam and Dean paled a little, but they didn’t know the half of it. They didn’t know who you were, or your place among the angels. You were sure that whatever was going through their heads was child’s play compared to what you were capable of.

After a few moments of silence, Dean got up and walked off, muttering something about the pie getting cold. Sam looked up at you, concern evident in his face. “Sometimes revenge isn’t always the answer,” he said, before wandering off into the bookshelves. You decided to go back upstairs and sit with Cas. You took the stairs two at a time, walking back towards Cas’ room. Your boots lightly clicked on the hallway floor as you walked back, this time slowly. Seeing him in this state broke your heart, as did knowing that the majority of Heaven had a price on his head. You hadn’t listened in to the angel radio since The Fall, so it made sense that you were out of the loop. You didn’t want to risk being found in your weakened state, or the angels who survived would hunt you down.

You stopped outside Cas’ door, taking a deep breath before entering. The door creaked and he opened his eyes, barely managing to squint. “(y/n)”, he said, his voice rasping in his throat. You shut the door and walked over to him, perching on the edge of the bed. He tried to sit up, but you gently pushed him back down. “You need your rest,” you said gently, stroking his hair. “I….I thought you were dead,” he said, bewilderment and confusion gracing his features. “I thought so too,” you replied. “It was awful, Cas—it was like the floor of Heaven itself split and fell, and there was so much pain; it felt like I was being torn apart from the inside out,” you said quietly, getting lost in your memories. “How…” he asked, and you grabbed the tissues and the glass of water on the bedside table. “I don’t know. I passed out just as earth came into view, next thing I knew, I woke up in a field. Just this field of flowers outside this little town in Washington,” you said, dipping the tissues in water and beginning to cleanse the dried blood from under his eyes. “I had to act fast, so I used some of the last of my powers to port into the little town’s morgue. I took over one of the freshest bodies, went to the next town over, spent some time healing myself and getting back on my feet, and then I set out to find you. Sam and Dean just found me before I could find them, and now here I am,” you said, drying off his face. Castiel looked at you quizzically. “I don’t have long before I have to let the body go—one more night of sleep, I think,” you said, smiling. “Sam told me what happened to you, I’m going to find that witch, drag her back here and force her to reverse the curse,” you said, looking straight into his deep, ocean-blue eyes. “Don’t,” he croaked, gripping your wrist. “She’s not worth it. Don’t put yourself in that kind of danger,” he said, his protective instincts kicking in. You sighed, looking at him wistfully and maneuvering your hand to hold his. “Okay, I won’t. But I’m not gonna go easy on her when the boys find her,” you replied, smiling a little. He smiled back once before he slowly fell back into unconsciousness.

You replaced the tissues and the water, tucked the blanket around him, and kissed his forehead. You stood up and silently walked over to the door. You felt awful for lying to him, the Winchesters too, but you couldn’t bear seeing him like this. You closed the door behind you as you left and leaned back against it, letting out a long, frustrated sigh. The clock mounted high on the wall read 9:37; if you wanted to put your plan into motion, there was no time better than now. You made your way back down to the second floor, focusing on what you were going to say as you went. As you picked up your bag, you saw Sam sitting back amongst the bookshelves, typing away on his laptop. You walked up behind him, quietly, and barely tapped him on the shoulder. He whirled around with a surprised half-yelp, sitting back down as he caught his breath. “(y/n),” he said, surprised. “Do you need something?”

You nodded. “Is there a room I can use for the night?”

Sam raised an eyebrow. “I thought angels didn’t need sleep?”

“Usually we don’t, but it’s the fastest way to get back up to par,” you replied. “I only need one more night before I’m back to full strength.”

Sam nodded towards the hallway behind him. “There’s a room down there you can use—three doors down and to the left.”

“Thanks,” you said, meandering off down the hallway. It was darker than the other hallways, a couple lights were burned out. You opened the door Sam had directed you to, and were met by a very simplistic room; a bed, a nightstand, and a chair. It had a place to sleep, and that was all you were concerned about. You locked the bedroom door and unzipped your bag, pulling out a plain nightdress. You changed into it, lay down on the bed, and closed your eyes, drifting into a dreamless sleep.

Chapter Text

I HAVEN'T FORGOTTEN!!!
I put this work on hold because I have some serious catching up to do, and I need to rewatch some of the Supernatural eps from this time- life distracted me, so everything got put on hold and I lost the plot where I was going with this.....so when I refresh my memory and figure out where i can redirect to, this work will be on hold :)
Never fear though!!
If you are a Marvel/Avengers fan, like I, you are in luck!!
I just watched Civil War, and I have some GREAT plans for my Avengers fic, Nightshade!! :D

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Update:

For all intents and purposes, this fic is essentially dead. I know where I was going with it, but I've been away from Supernatural for a long, long time, so updates aren't bound to happen any time in the foreseeable future. I'll probably come back to it, someday, but not soon.