Dark Tendencies (Dean Winchester x Reader)

Story Time

No one said a word as you looked down at the ground. You were Ashamed at how you felt. There was so much power in your given name, the power you actually grew to love, but sad at what that meant for you. "Yes" you manage to say, their eyes trained on you. Your jaw clenches with the mix of raw emotions that were flooding to the surface. Pain. Grief. Anger. Sorrow. But also a will to do better, to become more.

Nobody knew what to say. So you decided to start at the very beginning...

***BACK-STORY***

You were only 6 when it first began. You were drawing at the kitchen table, your mom making something for a visitor who stopped by. You didn't have very many memories with your mother, but the few good ones you managed to keep were always with her in the kitchen. Your father had left on a business trip promising to be back in a few days. You always thought it was rather strange that your family had so many people constantly in and out of the house, but you knew that what your family did was for a good purpose. For aiding in the battle of good and evil.

Your mother was a witch and a well-known one at that. Most of the people coming through were actually not always 'people' per se, but rather good creatures with a bad reputation. Yes, the occasional hunter would stop by, but most didn't know of my mom, and my dad intended to keep it that way. The few who did know her knew she wasn't a witch of the Grand Coven and that the little magic she possessed was only used for good. Your mother was a naturalist, meaning she was born with the abilities, but never really wanted to expand them. Instead, she developed more of a hobby for spells, cures, and potions that could only be used in good faith and never to do harm. She had taught you many of these things growing up- simple healing spells and potions to do all sorts of interesting things. These were your good memories.

You never really knew too much of the supernatural world, but you did know who were the good guys and who were the bad, and that's all the really mattered. Now and then, there would be gray area, which is why your mother always taught you to not judge a book by its cover, but always fact check the contents.

Your father had come home early from his trip, and at first, everything seemed normal to you but being so young, you know you wouldn't have noticed the signs. Your mother had been very jumpy around your father, and something was different between them. She had kept her distance, their usual routines were off. It just seemed so.. disparate.

One night, you woke up to hear screaming coming from downstairs. Your mother always told you that if there was something wrong to call the emergency number she had given you and hide. Your little brain couldn't process what your mother had engraved into your head and you knew that she was the one that was in trouble.

Being brave you rushed down the stairs, trying to stay as quiet as you could to avoid being caught and peered around the open dining room. Your dad was standing behind the table looking at something on the floor. "Daddy?" you ask inquisitively, walking over to be close to him. He turned around to watch you as you approached. He watched as your skin paled from the sight before you. Your first encounter with death. The death of your mother. Your eyes welled up with tears seeing the blood coating the ground, pooling beside her lifeless body. It felt like hours you were like that. In the dark. In the cold. Alone. But you realized you were not alone. You turned towards your dad seeking comfort in his musty smell and stubbly kisses. That is when you realized that this was not your dad, not anymore. His eyes were on you and a smirk grew upon his lips.

"This is your fault you know" he said to you. "Her blood is on your hands".

Those words would haunt you for the rest of your life.... "This is your fault you know". His eyes flashed black and then back to normal, confirming the knot that was forming in your stomach.