Dark Tendencies (Dean Winchester x Reader)

Trapped

"Y/n" a voice calls out.

You slowly open your eyes to see the raggedy man in front of you. His blond shoulder-length hair entwined with blood and dirt along with his eyes filled with rage caused the hair on the back of your neck to prickle up with anticipation.

"You could have chosen someone easier on the eyes you know" you say smirking at him.

You were tied up to a chair in the middle of an abandoned old house on the outskirts of a small town just south of Bobby's. You had taken the case upon request of Sam and Dean who were going to join you. It had been a few weeks since you had last met up with them and Bobby on a case that got a little over their heads when Dean decided to intervene in a game of poker in which the currency of the chips were years rather than actual money. When they called you saying Dean had lost against the chips, you had to come see it yourself. Luckily, from your many connections with the supernatural world (and after several attempts made by the boys) you convinced the witch to move on and give Dean his years back. It took a little convincing and an exchange of what you would consider procured supernatural items you happen to have had, but you got Dean back to the way he was. A part of you did miss the old man dean though, not only was he ancient and fragile, but kind of cute in a flirty old man way. You couldn't really get into your usual back and forth banter due to laughing so hard every time the old man tried to hit on you, so you decided it would be best to have him back to his normal self.

Since you had left Bobby's you had been traveling non-stop. You would call Bobby every month or so, letting him know what you were up to case wise but failing to mention the other work you had been doing. He was suspicious, and would question you often, but you would insist on your cases and promise to see him soon. He trusted you. It helped that you would meet up with Jo, Ruffus, and Garth on occasion which would ease Bobby's suspicions.

You also would meet up with the Winchester boys on hunts throughout the year you have been gone, and they have grown to enjoy your company. Sam enjoyed the intellectual conversations you would have about various aspects of the supernatural world intrigued by your vast knowledge. You would also join him for morning runs which he appreciated. You had grown to be best friends. He told you about His mistake with letting Lucifer out of the cage, and His addiction to Demon blood, his feelings and emotions about his whole ordeal with Azazel and losing Jessica. You were understanding, having done some really shitty things yourself. You always tried to build him up, trying to get him to see his good despite his bad, because that is what you believe in. Change.

Dean enjoyed your banter, the way you could take down as many shots of whiskey he could without getting sloshed, and your love for homemade pie and good old-fashioned rock & roll. You three had become almost inseparable for a time in which you joined them for many different hunts, zig-zagging across the country in the impala, but duty called and you couldn't get them involved in your other life. Claiming you had other hunts to chase and people to save you left them, but still would meet up for an occasional case or re-union at Bobby's.

"Shut up you Bitch" the shifter growls pulling out a knife and holding it up to your chest, a threatening look in his eye.

"Make me" you answer, clearly unfazed.

"You don't think I know who you are?" he laughs to cover up his agitation. "I know you by your true name."

"I don't know what you are talking about" you reply collected. It wasn't common for many to recognize you, but it also didn't shock you when they did.

He grabs you by the hair and pulls your neck in an angle to have better access to your ear. "Sparta" he whispers. He plunges the knife into your shoulder causing a searing pain to rush through your body and a fresh blanket of sweat to your forhead. He proceeds to back out of the devils trap he had painted on the floor, a wicked grin plastered on his face.