I Don't Bite [Dean Winchester x Reader]

In The Dark

I ground my teeth, frustrated that I had to be the one to make a food run this time. Dean could have eaten at the bar! Why the hell did I have to go out and get him food -- I'm not his mother, he can feed himself.

I sighed in frustration, swinging the grocery bags haphazardly at my side. He didn't get the burger he wanted, but he could deal with that. He would eat his chicken salad, or he'd starve.

Sam had dropped us off at the motel, so I had to walk to the small convenience store. Granted, it wasn't far, but it would have been a hell of a lot faster with the Impala (not that Dean would ever let me drive his precious Baby). I grumbled to myself and reached up to push a lock of hair out of my face, only succeeding to make it staticky from the plastic bag and cling to my face even more. I swore.

Dean was going to get an earful when I got back.

The hotel finally came into view and I hissed a quiet 'finally' under my breath, and quickened my pace. I was ready to either sleep or harass Dean, and I wasn't sure which yet. Both sounded delightful.

My mind flickered back to John's journal and suddenly I couldn't wait to get back to our room and dive in.

I thundered up a flight of stairs and raced down the hallway, grocery bags swinging wildly at my sides. The thought of being careful with their contents crossed my mind, but I honestly didn't care.

I needed to find out why John had that phone number.

I pushed our hotel room door open harder than anticipated and blushed as it smacked against the wall. My eyes flitted towards Dean, his green ones wide with surprise and his phone held to his ear.

"You trying to bust the hinges or something?" he asked. I didn't think my face could get any redder. I mumbled out an apology and set the groceries on the bed, my coat beside them. Dean frowned in confusion. "Isn't that my coat-" he was cut off by what I assume was Sam's irritated voice. My eyes landed on the old coat that had once belonged to Dean. I had forgotten it was his.

"Right, sorry Sammy," he started again, leaning back in his chair. "Like I was saying, she checks out. There is a Meg Masters in the Andover phone book. I even pulled up her high school photo," he sighed and held his unoccupied hand up, gesturing as if Sam could see him. "Now, look, why don't you go knock on her door and, uh, invite her to a poetry reading, or whatever it is you do, huh?"

I laughed and Dean's eyes slid over to me, a smirk resting on his features. He winked and then returned his gaze to the ceiling. I rummaged through the contents of the grocery bag, pulling out my own drink and chicken pot pie. Thank God for hotels having microwaves.

Dean hummed and leaned forward once more, scanning his notebook resting on the table. "Yeah, that I did have some luck with." I straightened and turned to him to see him hunched over his hastily scrawled notes. I moved to stand behind him, staring down at his wrinkled paper. "It's, uh—turns out it's Zoroastrian. Very, very old school, like two thousand years before Christ. It's a sigil for a Daeva."

My finger ran lightly over the sigils and words that I had never seen before. I had no clue what a 'Zoroastrian' was, nor a Daeva.

"What's a Daeva?" I heard Sam's voice from the end of the phone. Dean changed his phone to his other hand and hit the speaker button.

"It translates to "demon of darkness". Zoroastrian demons, and they're savage, animalistic, you know, nasty attitudes—kind of like, uh, demonic pit bulls."

I chuckled. "Pit bulls aren't that bad - sweethearts really."

Dean quirked a brow and Sam laughed breathily from the other end. "How'd you figure that out, Dean?"