Supernatural (Dean Winchester x Female!Reader)

Lazarus Rising

*3rd Person POV*

Dean was in a dark place; he breathes heavily, then flicks his lighter on. At that moment, he realized he's inside a wooden coffin. "Help! Help! Help!" He calls out in an extremely hoarse voice. Dean pounds on the wood above his head; dirt rains down on his face. But he continues to pound at the wood.

In the middle of a grassy field, a simple wooden cross is planted then a hand bursts out of the dirt, followed by another. It is Dean, and he crawls his way out of the ground, groaning and gasping. He lays on his back, panting. He stands up, looks around in the glaring sunlight. Around his crude headstone is a perfect circle of dead trees, laying on the ground as if an unearthly powerful blast had felled them.

Through the hazy heat, Dean walks down an empty road and approaches an abandoned gas station. He pounds on the door. "Hello?" Dean calls out, hoarsely, but no answer. He rolls up his outer shirt over his right hand and breaks the glass on the door.

Inside, he grabs a water bottle from a fridge and gulps at it, gasping. He finds a newspaper and sees the date, which reads: Thursday, September 18th. "September." he mutters, a bit confused. He goes to the bathroom and washes his face in a dingy sink, then looks up and stares at his reflection. He's wearing a tight black t-shirt.

Frowning, he stands, pulls the shirt up to expose his chest. At that moment, a flash of memories of his chest being ripped apart by the Hellhounds come to mind. Dean stares at his unblemished, unscarred chest in the dingy gas station mirror. He turns his left shoulder to the mirror and pulls up the sleeve to reveal a large, raw handprint brand. 

Dean pulls snacks and energy bars from the shelves, along with several bottles of water, and stashes them in a plastic bag. Stopping in front of a magazine stand of Adult Magazines, he stares at them for a moment before he got a flash of memories of (y/n), her smile and her laughter then the last kiss they shared.

He shakes his head a bit then immediately goes to the counter, sets down the bag, and hits a single button on the register, snapping his fingers in satisfaction when it pops open.

As he's looting the cash, the TV to his left flicks on, showing only static. He shuts it off; only to have a radio to his right turn on to white noise. Not wasting a moment, he goes to another shelf and grabs a carton of salt, opens it, and begins to pour it along the windowsill.

A high-pitched single tone begins, and Dean clutches his left ear in pain as he continues to pour salt with his right hand. As it continues, he drops the salt and crouches to the floor, groaning in agony. The window above his head shatters as the sound continues, and he drops to the floor. He leaps to his feet to try to escape, and more glass on the ceiling and walls shatters. He looks around cautiously.

Dean dials a number, and hears only an alert tone. "We're sorry. You have reached a number that has been disconnected." The recorded voice said and Dean hangs up the pay phone and inserts another coin, dials another number. It rings several times until it goes to voice-mail. "Hey, this is (y/n). If it's important, leave a message." (Y/n)'s voice said and Dean's fluttered a bit.

It was so nice to hear her voice but he hung up before he could leave a message as he wanted to talk to her. He inserts another coin and dials a different number. It rings once, then is picked up. "Yeah?" Bobby's voice answered. "Bobby?" Dean asked. "Yeah?" Bobby said. "It's me." Dean said. "Who's me?" Bobby asked. "Dean." He replied then a dial tone sounds. Dean hangs up the receiver and dials again.

"Who is this?" Bobby asked, angrily. "Bobby, listen to me." Dean said. "This ain't funny. Call again, I'll kill ya." Bobby threatens then the dial tone goes off again. Dean hangs up the phone, turns, and sees an old, beat-up white car parked outside. His eyes light up; he hotwires the car and pulls away from the gas station.