Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

"Sam!" You shout , tugging at the handcuff securing you to the radiator. The metal bites at your wrist, the chain rattling uselessly. "Let me the fuck out!"

"No." Sam doesn't even glance up at you, looking for something on the table with his good arm. He's tired, you both are, but he looks worse, heavy dark bags and a sallow face, a physical representation of the stress Dean's new outlook on life has caused the both of you. "No, because you can't be trusted not to run off and do something stupid."

You scoff. "Oh, really? And you can be?"

There's no more shouting from Dean, tied to the chair in the basement, head slumped over, thick ropes binding his wrists and ankles. You and Sam had followed him, across the country, cleaning up after every pit stop in he and Crowley's demonic road trip. You'd watched Dean and the man who'd kidnapped Sam, you'd watched Sam finally cuff Dean, you'd watched him inject him with blood while he screamed.

He'd said some awful, nasty things, eyes flickering black. Even when they'd reverted to green, they'd been empty, soulless. You'd escaped the brunt of the anger, actually, instead Dean had decided that this would be the perfect opportunity to start flirting with you, get so far under you skin it made you want to bolt from the room, discomfort creeping down your spine.

"Just- just let me handle this, okay Y/N?" Sam sighs, clutching a page from a journal. He straightens up to finally look at you. "You know it's for your own good."

"Fuck off." You snap, glaring up at him. "I care about him too, and I'm not a fragile child. I can take care of myself."

He doesn't answer the last remarks, walking off down the hallway. You huff, slumping further against the wall, tucking your knees into your chest. You hear doors opening, Dean's gruff voice unintelligible, but laden with cruel taunting. You close your eyes against the image of him sitting there, smiling as he rips Sam apart with his words, brilliant, straight, white teeth hissing pure venom.

Your eyes flicker around the floor, opening for a bit of scrap metal, a long-lost bobby pin, anything that could help you wiggle your way out of the cuff locked around your left wrist, but it's empty, just coated in fine dust. The radiator is fixed solidly to the wall, merely groaning under the force of your attempts to dislodge it from the bracket.

The voices have fallen silent, and you strain to listen, trying to figure out what Sam's doing now. Once you're out of these cuffs, Dean won't even have the chance to exact his demon-revenge, because you'll probably do it for him, that idiot and his saviour complex.

It's a continual problem for the both of them, and maybe it could be endearing, but when you fucking care more about them than they do about themselves, it's just frustrating.

The silence continues to hum around you, except now the hairs on the back of your neck are standing up, a prickle of suspicion and apprehension trailing your skin.

And this, Sam Winchester, is why you don't lock your only back up to the fucking radiator.

"Well, well, look what we have here." A voice drawls, dragged down by a familiar southern lilt. The blood in your veins freezes, and you snap your head to see Dean leaning against the doorway, smirking down at you.

"Dean." Your voice is halfway between a cry and a plea, and the fact he's out and Sam's not here means that-

"Relax sweetheart, I haven't found Sammy yet." His smile broadens. "I was looking for him, but then I found you, all tied up and no-where to go."

The insinuation behind his words shoots fear into your gut.

"Dean- Dean I know you're in there-"

"Y/N!" He roars, slamming his hand into the wooden door frame, so loudly it makes you jump. "You're not stupid, you know that's not going to work, stop it."

"I'm not going to give up on you and neither is Sam." The words are tumbling out, and they're the truth, and he needs to hear it, but you know that it's never been dangerous to care about Dean Winchester that much. The mild curiosity in his face twists into something more sinister, something angrier.

"You know sweetheart," he starts, voice eerily calm; "I've thought about this a lot. One of my favourites, actually."

Your back is pressed into the wall, but you can't help but shrink against it as he approaches you, the scuffed toes of his boots swimming into focus as they slam against the floor. The handcuff doesn't budge, clanging loudly as you frantically try and pull yourself free, away from the man advancing on you like a predator.

He clicks his tongue against his teeth in disapproval, looking at you with those cold, dead eyes, the same ones with the crows feet and the cheeks that used to contort it into a real smile, in real happiness. "Where are you going, hm?"

"Dean, Dean I'm not going to do anything, I'm fucking handcuffed, Sam's out there-"

"Aw well I don't think Sammy's going to be that much of a problem." He squats down in front of you, so your faces are at the same level. "He doesn't want to hurt his big brother."

"He will, if you do something to me, he will." Defiance flares amidst the swelling fear in your chest.

"Do something to you?" He raises a devastating eyebrow, and this thing uses his face so well it hurts. It does. "You scared of me, baby?"

"You are not right." You whisper, while he leans in, just a bit. "I know what you've done, you are not Dean."

"Oh, but I am." His hand comes up and grips your chin tightly, tight enough to hurt, tight enough to bruise, and you wince as he tilts your face up, looking over you like a prize catch. "That's what you two just can't seem to get, you know that? This is me, Y/N, all me. I can finally do whatever the fuck I want without that nagging fucking voice in my head."

"No, no this is not you." You argue fruitlessly, but whether it's out of desperation or just an attempt to distract yourself from the predicament you're in, how helpless you are, the fact you're at the complete mercy of a demon, you don't know.

"Y/N I told you." He snaps suddenly, forcing you to lock eyes with his again. "Stop that."

You shut your mouth, glaring wordlessly at the man in front of you. He gives your cheek a slight slap, not enough to even sting. "That's it, good girl."

You twist your head to the side, wrenching out of his grip. "Don't fucking touch me."

The playfulness vanishes instantly, and the hand moves to slam your turned head into the concrete wall, so close to your face can you can feel his breath on your cheek as he snarls;

"Who's going to stop me?"

Your free hand comes up to close around his wrist, attempting to pry his hand off, legs kicking out wildly, scrambling, the instinct to fight and flee finally kicking in. The imminent threat before you overrides your fear, your sensibilities, as you try and claw your way out of his grip.

He laughs, pushing off your face to stand back up in front of you. You tug uselessly against the stupid handcuff that's holding you in place, curled up against the wall. Dean tilts his head slightly, smiling down at you.

"Now, why don't you stay here while I deal with Sam." He says. "But don't worry honey, I'll be back."

He turns on his heel, stalking down the hallway with thundering footsteps. You don't bother to scream out for Sam, you can just hope he's been able to get out of the bunker while Dean was distracted toying with you.

You know that now, you need to get out of these handcuffs before Dean comes back.

"Shit, shit shit." You mutter to yourself, searching desperately on the ground for anything to help you, but there's nothing. The radiator doesn't budge, and you can't yank yourself free.

The underwire of your bra digs uncomfortably into the underside of your chest as you hunch forward, and the bruising feeling gives you an idea. Awkwardly, you undo the clasp of your bra with your free hand, tugging it until the plastic holding the straps on cave under the pressure, and you can pull it out of your shirt. You wedge it in between your knees, using your teeth to rip the fabric from the underwire, until you're left with a thin piece of metal, perfect to slide into the lock of the cuffs and undo the mechanism.

Rubbing your raw wrist gingerly, you creep towards the door, heart thundering in you chest. You can hear doors slamming in the distance, as you edge along the tiled hallways. You have to reach the exit, on the other side of the compound, then you could hot-wire the Impala and get to Castiel before Dean can find you. Even in his human state, you know he could beat you. Not easily then, but now, after what he did to that guy, you know he could annihilate you with both hands tied behind his back and a smile.

Suddenly, the bright lights shut off, replaced with blinking red emergency lights that cast beat in tandem. You can hear an alarm. You can hear Dean laughing, praising Sam mockingly.

Fuck, he hadn't gotten out.

You know Dean's closer to you, standing in between you and the exit, and you can hear his words clearly now.

"Come on Sammy!" He yells, and you can hear the sadistic smirk in his voice. "I don't wanna leave, not till I find you!"

You stumble out into the central room, lit up in dim bloody red, rifling through every draw to find something, anything, to defend yourself with. You find an old pocket knife that you slip into the waistband of your bands, and a meat cleaver which you clutch in your right hand as you move toward the sound of Dean's voice, despite the fear that's pounding in your head. You have to get out.

More doors clatter against their frames, and the lights flick back on with a whine. You blink against the sudden influx of bright light. You can hear Sam and Dean yelling now, and a loud crash echoes from the room with the generator, like someone was breaking down a door.

You know whatever room Sam has trapped Dean in won't keep him for long, and you start running, pushing your body towards the exit. You sprint through the corridor, just in time to see Sam disappearing around corner, and split wooden planks fly out onto the ground. You immediately start backing up, as Dean steps out into the very same corridor, running his hand through his hair in frustration, the other holding a hammer. He locks eyes with you.

You immediately turn, bolting in the opposite direction, almost hyperventilating.

"I thought I told you to stay put, hey Y/N?" He calls out behind you. You look over your shoulder to see that he's stalking behind you, not even rushing, an excited glint in his eyes. His face is emotionless however, cheeks pinched in.

You twist around another corner, hoping to loop around to the outside, clutching the cleaver desperately. You can hear his heavy footfalls behind you, tempered and even. You panic, seeing a heavy door to one of the training rooms, and dart into it, locking the door behind you. You can hear him come to a stop in front of the door as you back away, laughing to himself.

"Really sweetheart?" He gives you a second before he kicks the door in, swinging wildly on its hinges. You glance around, heart sinking when you find that there's no door on the other-side of the wall. You just trapped yourself in a room with him.

"That was fucking stupid, even for you." His frame fills the doorway, and you brandish the cleaver in front of you.

"I will chop your fucking hand off Dean, I swear to god."

"God?" He advances forward, the hammer swinging haphazardly at his side. The red flannel he's wearing is rolled up the elbows, and every sinew in his forearm is bulging. There was once a time you'd have loved that. "Oh he's not here baby."

You swing the cleaver forward, right at his throat, but he easily catches your wrist and twists it painfully, so you're forced to drop it. It clatters loudly on the floor, and he shoves you face first into the wall, pressing his body against yours to keep you pinned there. His lips brush your ear.

"Nice try." He smiles into your hair. "Better effort than Sammy."

"Get off me." You hiss through gritted teeth, fighting against his hold. He pushes his hips forward into your ass, flattening you back into the wall.

Dean drops the hammer next to you, one hand pulling your arms behind your back, wrists locked together in his palm, while the other one traces up the back of your thighs, sliding up your hip. He finds the pocket knife in your waist band, lifting up your shirt to pull it out and put it in his back pocket, tutting again in disapproval.

"Anything else?"

You shake your head furiously, as his fingertips skate up your stomach, before coming to a stop at your chest. Dean chuckles.

"Are you not wearing a fucking bra?" His hand squeezes your breast roughly, and you can't help the sigh that escapes your lips. Dean spins you around so you're face to face, eyes trailing down appreciatively.

"Underwire." You say, and the slight smirk widens into a devilish grin.

"Aren't you clever?" His hand ghosts up your shirt, to roam across your bare breasts, and you arch against him.

"Dean- Dean no-" You gasp, and his grip barely slips at your attempts to get free.

"Come on sweetheart." He shoves his knee in between your legs, delicious pressure against you core. "You don't remember how hard I made you come? I promise I'll make you feel so good."

"Mm." You can't even form words, and you unconsciously roll your hips against his thigh. "Dean."

His name slips out in a breathy sigh, and even you don't know if its to beg him to stop or keep going. He's kissing your neck sloppily, hot tongue on your skin, and your mind is melting. It's wrong, and you shouldn't, but you've missed him so much. Missed this.

His hand comes up to tangle in your hair, pulling you into a bruising kiss that builds with every breath, tongue exploring your mouth with ease. You moan into his mouth.

Dean pulls back, grinning like an asshole. "That's what I thought."

You can't stand the distance between you, so you pull him back towards you by the back of his neck, slamming your lips together again in desperation. He grinds his thigh just perfectly against your clit, and you're a panting, moaning mess in his mouth.

He reaches behind him, flicking the pocket knife open in front of you. You watch with wide eyes.

"Dean-"

"Sh, don't worry." He slides the blunt side of the knife from you belly button to just below your breasts, slicing your shirt as he goes. He pauses, the jerks it up, cutting through the rest of the fabric, which he rips off your shoulders, eyeing you like prey.

You're struck by the stupidity of the situation, half naked in front of Dean, because it's not him, and you can't trust him like you used to, because he's been twisted and tortured and he's not human. On cue, his eyes flicker to a pit of black, before they return to their usual emerald.

"C'mere" Dean growls, tugging on the belt loops of your pants, pulling you away from the wall and into his arms. You stiffen, pushing on his chest.

"You're a demon, I can't-"

"Are you going to behave, or am I going to have to cuff you again?" He asks, hand sliding down your back to greedily squeeze your ass, grinding against you. His mouth dips to the sweet spot where your neck meets your shoulder, sucking greedily. Your head tilts back in bliss, his mouth and his hands all over you.

His hand smacks your ass, hard, and you snap your head up, looking into his eyes. Dean's stare back at you challengingly, grabbing your ass roughly with both hands. "Fuck, I missed this ass, baby."

You can feel Dean growing hard against you, and your hand trails down his chest, palm flat against his crotch, stroking lightly. He groans, hard, and pulls you down onto the padded floor so you're straddling him, grinding your hips needily against his length and the rough denim of his jeans.

Dean doesn't let you stay on top for long, and your world flips as he rolls you over, wedging his body in between your parted legs, kissing you harshly. You arch your back in need, desperate for friction, for anything.

"If you want something, you're going to have to ask for it." He says into the shell of your ear.

"Dean please-"

"Say it sweetheart." He kisses you messily, all tongue and teeth.

You moan against his lips. "I need you, please Dean, please touch me."

He swiftly unhooks the button on your jeans, tugging them impatiently down you hips, ripping them off your legs. He cups your centre, the pressure making your head spin, before tearing the cotton panties from you, leaving you completely bare before him.

Piercing eyes on yours, Dean runs his tongue along the lines of your stomach, hands gripping your hips so tightly it hurt, and you know you'll find five finger bruises on the bone tomorrow. You almost scream when he finally flattens his tongue agains your pussy, sucking eagerly on your clit.

Your head falls to the floor and you moan wantonly, trying to buck into his mouth, but he keeps you pinned down, now clutching the inside of your thigh to keep you held open for him as he works you.

"Oh god." You pant as he kitten licks you, face buried in your pussy, eating like a man who had been starved. He looks up for a second, grinning like an idiot.

"No sweetheart, just me."

Whatever retort you were going to say dies on your lips as he swirls his tongue around that little bundle of nerves, bringing you closer and closer to the edge. The knot in your stomach tightens, coiling around itself, everything about to snap.

Just when you're about to find your release, he stops, and you whine as he pulls away. He laughs darkly, sinking his teeth into the delicate skin of your inner thigh as you cry out in a mix of pain and pleasure.

"Please, please I wanna come, Dean please."

"You'll come when I tell you to come." He commands sharply, abandoning your legs to push himself up. His hands undo the buckle of his belt, and your head rolls back, but you can still hear the sound of his zipper coming undone.

Pleas fall from your lips like a mantra, begging for him to return his touch to you, to fill you, to mark you, to push you that bit further.

"God fucking look at you." He groans, pumping his hand up and down his length as he watches your desperation with dark eyes. "Don't worry baby, I'm not done with you."

Dean uses your hips to tug you towards him, and you arch up, whimpering as he forces your legs even wider, rubbing the tip of his cock up and down your folds teasingly.

"Dean." You moan, head lolling dumbly to the side.

"That's right baby." He grunts, pushing into you in one deep thrust, so deep inside you that you cry out again, running your hands through his hair, longer now, strands tumbling onto his sweaty forehead. You cup his jaw, feel the stubble against your hands.

He slams into you relentlessly, drawing every cry, and whine, and moan from your lips, hitting you deep with every thrust. You're barely holding on, teetering on that thin line, almost reaching your peak, desperate to come. You can't even form words, just panting and moaning.

"Always knew I could fuck you dumb, huh?" He moans into your neck, gripping your breast tightly with one hand, holding himself up with the other. His thumb circles your nipple haphazardly, not enough, never enough. "You were made for me Y/N, no one can make you this fucking cock drunk, you've always been mine, haven't you?"

You whimper your agreement, raking your nails down his back. You probably break skin, but Dean doesn't even seem to notice, grunting, reaching closer to his own release. Nothing mattered anymore, except him filling you up, except him fucking you stupid. The coil in the pit of your gut is impossibly tight, and you can barely hang on.

"You gonna come for me sweetheart, yeah? You gonna come?" Dean's hips were twitching, both of you close.

You nod, head flopping up and down as his pace quickened. "Fuck Dean, I'm so close, please, I'm so fucking close."

He bites your collarbone, almost drawing blood, and the pain threatens to tip you over. His tongue traces the indents he left in your skin, before he comes back up to meet your eyes, brushing his nose against yours. "Go ahead baby."

His permission is all you need, and the world unwinds in a burst of stars, a rippling pleasure running through your veins, shuddering through your entire body, you scream, digging your nails into the back of his neck as waves of bliss roll through you, emptying your mind. All there is is Dean, and how good he's making you feel.

He comes moments after you, all over your stomach and hips with a groan, teeth sinking into his bottom lip as he shakes. You both stop for a moment, twitching in the aftermaths of your orgasms.

Black spots cloud your vision, and you're too far in your own head to even realise that Dean's reaching into his back pocket, until there's a pin prick in your own neck, and the black spots bloom so large they cover your entire vision.

You open your blurry eyes to darkness and warm leather underneath your legs. Something is humming underneath you, like a car travelling on the road. You blink again, see the familiar worn interior of the Impala, heavy beats of some rock song making your head throb.

Dean is tapping along with the song on the steering wheel, flying over some country road. You're wearing his flannel, curled up in his back seat. You're sore, aching and bruised, trying to gather your bearings. The pile of what's left of your clothes are pooled on the floor of the car and you hesitantly reach forward, intent on searching through the pockets, but a wave of dizziness washes over you, pulling you back under.

The next time you wake, you're fully dressed, warm, grey track pants and socks tucked into the cuffs, a shirt that smells like Dean, whiskey and motor oil. You're lying on a stiff bed, quilted cover underneath you. Your clothes have been thrown over an armchair in the corner of the room, which doesn't look like a standard motel. You have no idea where you are, as you approach your pants, smiling in triumph when you recover your phone from the side pocket.

Dean has me, I'm-

You're halfway through your text to Sam when someone yanks the phone out of your hand, throwing it to the floor.

"Dean." You squeak, feet shuffling you away.

"Y/N." He shoots you a lazy, half-lidded smile. "What were you doing, hm?"

"Dean, I- Where am I? Where did you take me?"

He ignores you, sitting down on the bed you were just on.

"I'll stop, we'll stop, I just need to get back to Sam-"

"You're not going anywhere sweetheart." Dean's gruff voice cuts you off, elbows resting on his knees. "Oh no, you think I was just going to let you go?"

"Dean." His name slips out, more unsure, more scared. He smiles.

"We're going to have so much fun together."

Chapter Text

"Y/N!" Dean shouts off in the distance, warning clear in his voice. You don't respond, crouching down in a cluster of bushes that scratch your face and neck. You hear one or two cars pass, the highway mostly empty this early in the morning, when the sun hasn't even begun to rise. You estimate it's probably three am, a couple hours since you and Dean left the place you were staying in.

You'd had no intention of doing something stupid, really, but then you needed to pee, and the nearest service station was miles away, and he let you out, unsupervised. Your instincts kicked in, and you bolted away from him, tearing through the fields on the side of the road. You must of made it a mile down the way at least, not daring to poke your head up to check.

Dean yells again, the anger potent. "Y/N get back into the fucking car! You know I'm going to find you, don't make worse for yourself!"

He hadn't clued you into his plan beyond his ominous promise of fun he'd made to you when you first woke up, and you really don't want to stick around to find out. Sure, maybe in any other scenario, road tripping with Dean would be amazing.

Just not when he has no humanity, and super human strength.

You cover your mouth with your hand, muscles screaming as you edge further and further away from Dean, crouched impossibly low. You unclasp you fingers from your nose every so often to let out small puffs of air, careful not to let your breathing become ragged, to reflect the panic capsizing your heart.

Everything goes quiet, and it sends a chill through your blood. You have no idea where he is, stalking through the grass like a fucking tiger, eager to spring on its unsuspecting prey. He's amped up on demon powers and anger, and he's still Dean, still smart, still a hunter. Ultimately, if you don't find somewhere to hide soon, flag down a car, anything, you're fucked.

In every sense, probably.

Inch by inch, millimetre by millimetre, you painfully creep along the line of the road. You quickly abandon your silent-at-all-cost tactic, dropping to your hands and knees to start crawling along the ground. Dried stalks of grass stab into your knees and palms, pebbles and rocks embedding themselves into your skin, flung from the road.

You grit your teeth against the stinging, and keep crawling away from Dean. The silence stretches out over the night. No cars have come past with rumbling motors, and Dean has fallen quiet, so all you can hear is the blood pumping in your ears, your breathing which sounds so loud you may as well be flashing a flare above your location and screaming I'm here Dean.

It probably isn't, but fear is twisting your mind into paranoia, and you understand how easy it is to just go insane. Minutes tick by, no noise, no clue, no indication that he's still even there, but you don't even dare to look back as you force your way forward. If you have to crawl the ten fucking miles to the next town, you fucking will.

It all seems to be going well, until a hand closes around your ankle with bruising force, and you let out a blood-curdling shriek in surprise and fear. The hand yanks you back, and your arms collapse underneath you, so you're scrambling flat on your belly, kicking and screaming with everything you have. The person- Dean- doesn't relent one inch, dragging you backwards.

"Get off me!" You scream, as your foot connect with what you think is his stomach, because the pressure of his fingers lessen with a pained grunt. You kick your leg out of his grip, and claw your way back to your feet to crash through the stalks of grass out onto the road.

Just as your feet hit the asphalt, Dean's fingers close around the collar of the shirt you're wearing, and you're sent flying backwards, choking, clutching at your throat to lessen the pressure.

"Don't make me choke you out Y/N." Dean says harshly, when you tumble into his chest. One arm comes to wrap around your waist, holding down your left wrist. Your other arm is pinned between his bicep and your body. His other arm releases your shirt, and you gasp for air, only for a broad hand to firmly clap over your mouth, forearm pressed in between your breasts.

You sag against his grip, because he has you now, and you'd truly only be making it worse for yourself if you kept fighting. You've found that while Dean enjoys the cat and mouse, his temper burns out quickly, so its best to cut your losses and try again later.

Dean's muttering as he turns both of you, to start the march back to his car. The Impala is sitting just down the road, left there when he followed you in it after you ran. "Can't fucking trust you to even go take a piss, seriously you're a fucking pain in my ass."

Your indignant squeaks are muffled by his rough palm, and you're so constricted you are barely able to wriggle in his grip. When you reach the car he shoves you up against the body, your back colliding painfully with the metal, while he opens the door for you.

Dean doesn't even say anything, waiting expectantly for you to get into the backseat. You only blink at him, weighing your options. If you get into that car, will you ever be able to get out? What if he takes your somewhere deep in the wilderness, someone further from civilisation than you already are now? Maybe this is your only chance.

Dean hones in on your hesitation, narrowing his eyes. "Get the fuck in the car Y/N. Now."

You still stand there like a deer in the headlights, paralysed with fear.

His voice drops to an almost growl. "If you keep making this difficult, I am going to make this so much worse for you. Get in."

Legs shaking, you awkwardly slide into the back seat, shuffling as far away from him and the drivers side as you can, pressing yourself against the cool window. Dean smirks.

"Good choice."

You grit your teeth, your hand behind your back resting on the handle of the car. You imagine pulling it open while he's speeding along the highway, and tumbling out onto the road. It's probably a better alternative to whatever he has planned in retaliation for your stunt.

The door slams shut, the sound and force reverberating through your bones, before the drivers side opens up and he sits down heavily into the seat. His hand grips the steering wheel so tightly his knuckles glow white, so you don't say anything, afraid of setting him off.

"Really Y/N, where were you even going to go?" He shakes his head as he starts the car, motor coming to life with a hum. You meet his eyes in the rear-view mirror.

"I don't know, adrenaline just kicked in."

"I know you can control yourself better than that, huh? Otherwise you'd be useless on hunts."

"This is different."

He chuckles. "Yeah, well, we're going to have to make sure that doesn't happen again."

Your jaw clenches so tightly you can hear the squeak of your bones. "It won't, it was stupid."

"Damn right it was stupid." His fingers drum softly along the wheel to a song in his head. "I just don't think you realise just how stupid it was, yet."

You stare straight into the headrest in front of your, stomach flipping upside-down, anxiously.

You can feel his grin. "Don't worry, I'll teach you."

You're both silent for the following hour, the only noise is your heart thumping in your chest, and a song Dean's blaring on the radio. You watch faint outlines of houses, small clusters of towns and structures whiz by, blurry and out of focus. You dream of leaping out of the car, even though you'd just shred your skin off and break your bones. It still seems kind of worth it.

You drive for a little while longer, until Dean makes a turn into a long driveway, coming to park in front of a farmhouse nestled in between trees. He turns around to look over you, tucked up in his backseat, terrified.

"Hunters safe-house." He remarks proudly. "Don't worry, Sammy doesn't know about this one."

Your stomach sinks as he gets out of the car, rummaging around in the boot. You don't know what he's even pulled out, weapons, torture devices, anything, as he opens your door, offering a hand to you.

You ignore it, pulling yourself out of the car and standing on wobbly feet. He seems to be amused by your actions, raising an eyebrow and shutting the door. He's holding a black duffle bag, and with his free arm, wraps around your waist and swings you over his shoulder.

You writhe, but he holds you firmly in place.

"I can fucking walk." You spit.

"Last time I let you go off I had to chase you down a mile in fucking wheat grass." Dean snaps back, climbing onto the porch. He unlocks the front door, but doesn't put you down, carrying you past the living room. You start to panic, limbs flailing helplessly in the air.

"Dean put me down."

He doesn't respond, gently nudging a door open with his foot and dumping you unceremoniously onto what feels like a bed. You spring up instantly, attempting to bolt off the bed and towards the open door, but Dean plants a hand on your chest, slamming you back down onto the mattress.

He quickly descends, straddling your hips to keep you pinned with his weight, while he pulls a pair of handcuffs out of his back pocket. You don't even think, swinging your palm to slap him across the face. He blinks, cheek reddening, and his eyes turn black with anger, lips pinched.

He slips the cuffs around the post of the headboard, catching your hands and closing them around your wrists. You pull against them, but just like the radiator, it does nothing. Dean pauses to admire his handiwork, observe you fruitlessly struggling against my bonds like a rabid animal caught in a trap, before an idea sparks in his eyes.

His hand slides up your shirt, and he grins.

"Wouldn't want a repeat of last time." He chides, withdrawing his hand. You're wearing a cotton crop top he'd bought for you, not an underwire bra, which you know he would have gleefully taken. Luckily, the crop top is more of a pain to cut off, because you're sure he's not concerned semantics.

"Don't touch me."

Dean clicks his tongue against his teeth, leaning in so that you can feel his breath fan over your cheek, echoing the same words that he said to you when he first stumbled across you, trussed up the the wall. "Who's going to stop me, hm?"

You don't even bother trying to plead to his humanity, the remnants of Dean still in there, you'd only make it worse for yourself, only make him angrier.

He unseats himself from you, satisfied that you're no longer a flight risk, dragging a fingertip down your leg, thinking. There's a long pause before his next words.

"If I come back here, and you've done something dumb, I'm going to break your legs. Try getting out then, sweetheart."

You don't doubt him. He continues. "I'm going to unpack the car, be good for me."

His touch leaves you as he walks through the door. You can hear his footsteps, the front door swinging open and closed, the car boot opening and closing. He comes in and out of the house a few times. You tug against the handcuffs, try and dislodge the wooden rod the handcuffs are looped around from the bed frame, but it's no use. It never works.

His absence is torturous, because you know that when he returns you will have to face the consequences of getting caught, face the fact you failed to escape and he still has you. Anxiety and dread prickle your skin, pinching your spine hard enough that your whole body trembles. Maybe he will just break you legs anyway. Maybe he'll fuck you and kill you and that'll be the end of it.

When Dean finally does return, you're staring off into the wooden beams of the ceiling, your mind off, back to the bunker and Sam and Castiel, leaving your body behind.

"You know, I still can't decide what I want to do with you." Dean's voice is like a knife, slicing through the reality you withdraw into to protect yourself.

"Leave me alone?" You raise your head, glaring at him.

He smiles. "Don't start acting like you don't fucking love being punished Y/N."

You narrow you eyes at him using that against you. "This is not the same."

Dean ignores you, smile growing sicker as his eyes turn to yours. "I've got so many ideas. At first I was going to bend you over that table and spank your pretty little ass so hard you wouldn't be able to sit down for weeks, but then I was going to keep you tied to this bed and bring you to the edge again and again and again, watch you beg and cry for me to let you come, watch you fall apart."

Dean sits down on the bed next to you, pushing a stray piece of hair of your forehead, almost lovingly. "But that'd be too easy for you, because you can take that, can't you? You can take pain, you can put it away and hate me for it and you'd get over it, wouldn't you baby? But it's harder for you when you can't be angry at me, and you can't hate me, and you enjoy it. Isn't it?"

You cringe away from him. "You're fucking sick, I know this isn't you"

He keeps on ignoring your words and protests, fingers chasing you across the quilt. "I think that the best punishment is when I give your everything you so desperately want, and you'll hate yourself for it."

Fuck Dean. Fuck Dean and how well he knows you, and how well he can pick you apart. You wished you never met him, wished you'd never let him get this close, see this far into your head.

You love Dean, and you wish he'd died. Died instead of this.

His hand traces down your tense stomach, gliding slowly to the waistband of your tracksuit pants. He reaches the cords that keep them on your hips, and your instincts kick back in. Your traitorous, ill-timed instincts.

You jolt your hips, bringing your knees up so they collide with his forearms, narrowly avoiding his nose. He rears back to escape your swinging legs, as they kick out at him, like a bug that's been flipped over, on my back, scrambling.

"Dean! I know you're fucking in there, don't you dare fucking tell me you're not!" You scream at him, and he just laughs. "Don't do this Dean, I love you, Sam loves you, we're here for you-"

You're cut off with his hand slamming back over your mouth. His eyes are back to the pools of inky black, and you can see your own face reflected in them.

"Y/N, shut your mouth." Dean snarls.

You glare back him challengingly, but you stop yelling.

"If you keep screaming that shit I'm going to gag you, so fucking behave." He takes off his hand, and you keep your lips sealed, legs tucked up into your body. You've rolled onto your side in the struggle. His voice returns to something lighter, teasing. "Just relax Y/N, let me make you feel good, it doesn't even have to be a punishment."

He undoes the cord of your pants, and you want him so fucking badly and the hate is eating you up inside. You love him with everything, and it's taking that not to give in.

"Dean-"

His fingers tighten on your thigh, the ghost of a warning. "What did I say?"

You don't try again, but he wants to play this out, repeating his words. "What did I say?"

You relent angrily. "If I kept saying shit you'd gag me."

He taps you gently on the nose, smiling with crumpled cheeks and crows feet, just like the Dean you love. "Good girl."

Against your wishes, the name makes your stomach twist, just like it always did, like he knows it would. You're truly putty in his hands, moulded by his honeyed words, and curse this asshole and the way he talks like Dean, and looks like Dean, and knows everything Dean does.

He tugs the pants down your legs, flinging them into the corner of the room. His index finger ghosts of your panties, humming appreciatively.

"I missed you so much, you know that? Wanted to spend every second between these fucking thighs."

You arch your back, into his touch, your body betraying sensibility. He smiles lovingly at that.

"Look at you." Dean coos. "I'll make you feel so fucking good, you know I will."

Your panties are tugged down your legs too, sent flying wherever your pants ended up. You squirm under the intensity of his gaze, legs slightly parted, straining against the restraints that keep you attached the the headboard. You don't know whether you'd push him away or pull him closer.

He parts your thighs with ease, sliding in between them. His breath fans out over your pussy and you have to bite you lip to stop yourself begging him to put his mouth on you. Luckily, he doesn't seem intent on drawing this out, because his tongue lathes against your clit, hot and wet and perfect.

"Dean." The name is wrenched from your lips, as you buck into his mouth. He smiles against you, licking eagerly.

He works you so quickly towards your first orgasm that it hits you like a freight train, making your thighs quake underneath his grip, arching your back, throwing your head back with a loud moan. He doesn't relent, simply holding down your hips and fucking you shallowly with his tongue as you ride the wave of your climax.

"Oh fuck, Dean please." The words tumble from your lips when he flattens his tongue and drags it up your slit. He chuckles darkly against you, pulling away for a second so his black eyes can meet yours.

"Don't you worry baby, there's so much more coming."

His right hand leaves your hip to reach up between you, middle and index finger tapping against your lips. You don't hesitate, leaning forward to take them into your mouth, swirling your tongue as you bob your head lightly. He moans against your pussy, and the feeling makes you moan in turn around his fingers.

He pulls out of your mouth, running his spit slickened digits across your lower lip, before the hand descends down and he curls them inside you swiftly, crooking them so they brush against all the right places. You can't help yourself, bucking against his hand while he swirls his tongue around your clit.

It's embarrassing how quickly he can reduce you to a panting, moaning, mindless mess, fucking yourself on his fingers and tongue to chase another orgasm, gut twisting tighter and tighter, toes curling, moans getting louder and louder. Every inch of your skin is on fire, like he's hooked you up to a live-wire and you're conducting electricity out of every pore.

The second orgasm hits you in a series of stuttering waves, lighting up every nerve, making you shake uncontrollably, you almost end up screaming, toes curled underneath you so tightly you think that if you could feel anything they'd be cramping.

"Dean oh my god." You gasp, trying to squirm away from his relentless tongue. "Oh fuck please, it's too much."

"You can take it baby." He pauses, while you chest heaves, kissing the inside of your thighs. You wrists are raw, rubbing against the metal handcuffs.

You're so sensitive, that when he puts his mouth back on you, you can't avoid your hips flying upwards, legs jerking uncontrollably.

"It's too much- fuck- I can't take it." You moan, writhing while his hands keep you help down the mattress, legs spread for him to eat you out.

"You'll take whatever I give you, won't you?" Dean hums against your core. "Like a good girl?"

"I-I can't." You're shaking so bad that your words come out all stuttery.

His teeth sink into your thigh as a warning, that this isn't a negotiation, that he'll make you come until he's satisfied and your only job is to take it for him.

Your voice cracks as you moan and cry out, drawing you to your third climax. Your muscles are tensed so tightly that you think when you do come, you're going to break apart like glass. You clutch desperately to the bed frame, wishing you could bury your arms in his hair, wrap them around his neck and shoulders.

"Fuck-Dean. Dean." You're repeating his name like a prayer, the only word your orgasm-fried brain can concoct, just him and his mouth and how much he fucking owns every inch of you whether you like it or not.

When the third orgasm hits, it's so ferocious you almost pass out, your hips rolling, legs trembling, entire body boneless as your sink into the mattress. Stars swim behind your squeezed shut eyelids, as you gulp in air. Black spots cloud your vision, and you're vaguely aware of the fact you're just mumbling Dean and please over and over again.

He releases you, finally, crawling over your exhausted body to unlock the handcuffs. He brings you hands down into your chest, caressing the marks on you wrists. You look up at him through heavy, half lidded eyes, watching him lie down next to you.

As agilely as your worn out limbs allow you to, so scoot into his chest, draping your arms around him. He follows your movements closely with hungry eyes. He loves you like this, when you're so drunk off him that you can't think straight, when all your addled brain can think of his how badly you need him and his cock.

"I reckon you could have handled a few more." He whispers, evil glint in his now emerald eyes. "I go too easy on you."

"Hm." You hum as your reply. Your leg is slung over his waist, and you can feel how hard he is against your thigh. "I'm still up for you to spank me."

He laughs, hands finding their way to grope your ass, as your head rolls happily, coming to rest your forehead against his.

"I'm sorry for running."

He brushes your noses together, kissing you gently. "It's okay, you were never going to get away."

You hate that he's right, hate that you don't mind so much anymore.

"You've got me." You breathe against him, rubbing your leg against his length. His hands clench against you ass, and you know the bruises on your hips are going to have a matching pair.

"You're a fucking tease." The sentence comes out slightly strangled. "I've always had you."

You can't argue.

He's always been right about you, about you and him.

"Always."

Chapter Text

Life with Dean is easy enough when you turn a blind eye, when you can pretend that he's still there, still normal, just you and him like lovesick hunters in your own fucked up romance. It's easy when you ignore the blood he's drenched in when he comes home, easy when you pretend you can't hear the screams from someone tied up in the basement, easy when you forget you're not allowed out of the house.

There's a sick, twisted part of you that loves it. Loves how he's so obsessed with you he can't let you go, not even beyond the four walls of the safe house you're holed up in, loves the ruthlessness that always ebbs when he gets his hands on you, loves how he marks you up like a feral animal.

There's also the rational part of you, the one that pleads for you to play along, submit to his claim so you can find a way out of this under his nose, because god knows that you're never going to be able to fight your way out with Dean. It reminds you of Sam, and who Dean used to be, and how he can be cured, as long as you play it smart.

As it turns out, Dean wasn't exaggerating when he said that seeing you tied up was his favourite scenario, you think, irritated, the heavy, spelled cast iron chain clasped around your ankle and linked to a pole in the centre of your living room. You can't break it, can't pick it, can't go anywhere except the bathroom and the lounge, linked by a long chain.

You'd ask why there was a steel beam in the middle of the room, but it's a hunter's house, and you never know when you're going to need to tie something down to a solid object. Dean's out of the house, as the sun fades out below the horizon, later than usual. He's resumed hunting, monster-a-week, check the paper kind of hunts.

You try and argue that it gives him purpose, but you know it's because he likes killing shit and doesn't want Sam on his trail.

You huff, huddled up on the couch, knees tucked into your chest, just waiting. It's a routine, exist for the day and fuck Dean when he comes home, amped up after some kill or banishment, high on adrenaline and lust.

You won't pretend you're perfect, and that if he let you come along on hunts you wouldn't consider staying. At the end of the day, you love him, probably, and that might be enough.

He stumbles through the door when it's well and truly dark, absolutely drenched in blood. You barely even flinch at the sight anymore, but he looks haggard, breathing heavily, face screwed up in what looks like pain.

"Dean?" You stand up abruptly, watching him stagger towards you, clutching his stomach.

"Y/N." Dean grunts, collapsing on the couch next to you. You turn, pulling his hand back to reveal a jagged gash, ripped through his shirt and skin. It's covered in blood, but seems to have slowed bleeding.

You don't understand, he's a demon, he can heal just about anything, and a knife wound shouldn't be troubling him like this at all. He can read the shock and confusion on your face, and throws his head back in a mixture of laughter and pain.

"Asshole hunter stabbed me with some knife and it didn't heal."

"Seriously Dean? I thought you said you were avoiding hunters." You hiss, running to the bathroom to pull out a bunch of towels and the first aid kit, holding a towel to the wound with firm pressure to stop the bleeding.

"Hey it's not my fault, he picked up the same case."

"Did he get you anywhere else?"

"No." You stand up anyway, moving his hand to replace yours against the towel and inspecting him, tilting his face in your hands. "I'm fine sweetheart, Jesus."

Despite his protests, he still lets you check over him, a wry smile quirking at his lips at your concern.

You drop back down to your knees beside him, peeking under the towel, which seems to have let the blood clot over the wound enough to stop it leaking blood. You open the first-aid kit with a sigh, pulling out a needle and surgical thread, as well as a bandage. Dean reaches back with a pained hiss to grab a bottle of whiskey.

He unscrews the cap and takes a deep swig before handing you the bottle, which you use to drench the side of his stomach and one of the towels, so you can gently scrub the dried blood away from his skin and clean the cut. You open the sterile pouches with the needle and thread, and wash your hands before settling back down.

Dean barely winces as you push the needle through his skin. You pinch the wound closed with one hand, tying neat little stitches to keep it held closed. You've had years of practice patching Dean and Sam up after hunts and scuffles, a familiar routine that hurts that little bit more, because it's not you and Dean, it's the thing that he's become.

He snatches the whiskey back off the table though, chugging a decent amount. You used to have a go at him about his drinking, and it led to multiple blow-out fights, screaming at each other across motel beds and kitchen tables. You'd had the police called on you a few times, and you'd have to convince the cops that Dean wasn't your drunk, abusive boyfriend, but just a dickhead you cared about.

Sam was in the middle. He was on your side, but he can't have a serious talk with his brother to save his life. That was the problem with the both of them, too emotionally stumped to do anything expect watch each other destroy themselves. You don't bother fighting with Dean about it now, just pursing your lips.

"You gonna get pissy about my drinking?" Dean sneers at your face, and you roll your eyes, snipping off the last of the thread.

"Did I say anything?" You set the scissors and needle down. "You've just got a bruised ego and now you're looking for a fight."

He snorts but doesn't respond, taking another swig. You seal down a bandage over his side, smoothing down the sticky adhesive on the edges.

"You're all good, I'll change that tomorrow."

He offers you the bottle of whiskey, which you accept, savouring the burn in your throat, the way the cheap liquor tastes like floor cleaner. Dean snatches it back from you, his free hand brushing your hair from your face.

"Don't you look pretty down there?"

You look up at him from your position on your knees, but you don't hide your disdain. Dean can be crude at the best of times.

"Uncuff me Dean."

"I'm sorry." He laughs, leaning forward so you can smell the sickening mixture of whiskey, blood and sweat. His hand comes to rest against the base of your neck, fingers splayed over your collar bone, thumb at your throat. "What was that?"

There is absolutely no fucking way you were going to beg for him.

"You heard me." You glare at him, as he mindlessly brushes his thumb over the marks that litter your neck, the bruised indents of teeth and patches left behind by his eager tongue. "Get off your ass and take this stupid thing off."

"What's up your ass today? I thought I fucked that attitude out of you last night."

He had, well and truly, but it never lasts long. A whole day trapped in between two rooms is enough to build resentment and snap you out of a post-orgasm haze.

You almost snap out a retort, but the sound of gravel underneath someone's boots snaps both of you to attention, heads whipping to the front door. Dean glances down at you, before wordlessly uncuffing you, and pulling his gun from behind his back. You tuck the chain away as he walks to the door.

He leans against it, hands on his gun, listening for more footsteps. There's tense silence for a few more seconds, before and echoing knock makes you jump. Dean presses the barrel of the gun against the door, before cracking it open.

"Can I help yo- Joey?"

"Dean! It's been a while!" The voice jolts you, sending you flying back to a few years ago, a stint in Tennessee, good whiskey in shitty bars, the bed in the motel with the awful brown flowers. You'd been pissed at Sam and Dean, some dumb reason, probably related to their self-sacririfical habits, and you'd found refuge at a bar, where you'd met Joey, another hunter.

Then you'd gone home with Joey, and then you'd met him for lunch the next day, and then you'd spent seven months in the same house for the first time in years. Dean and Sam had gone off on another case, and you'd stayed, just like that.

"What're you doing here man?" Dean's voice lightens considerably, and you watch him tuck the gun back into his pants. "It's good to see you."

You know for a fact he's lying, because Dean hates Joey. He'd lost it when you'd broke the news to him you weren't going, and he'd never shut up about it since. You watch them shake hands, clapping each other on the back, and Joey step in from the front porch.

"Just passin' through, thought'd I'd rest up for the night." Joey sets his baseball cap on the hall table, looking around. "I saw the light on and figured it had to be someone friendly."

His eyes light up when they finally lock on you, sitting against the couch, on the floor.

"Y/N?"

"Joey!" You were truly glad to see him, the face that looked like it hadn't aged a day since you'd last seen him, bar a few more scars. He opens his arms out and you make your way over to sink into his arms. "It's good to see you."

You can feel Dean glowering over his shoulder, but you ignore it.

"I should have figured you'd be out here with him." He smiles, letting you go. "Sam around?"

"Sammy ran off again, found something else to chase." Dean answers, stepping out of the shadows of the hallway. "You know how he is."

Joey laughs, shaking his head. "Aw the kid's still full of dreams, good for him."

"You staying long?" Dean asks.

"I'd hoped to be able to hole up here for the night if you guys don't mind?"

"Go ahead, we were planning to pack up tonight, we've got to get to South Carolina, figured we'd get a head start."

"Something good down there?"

"Sounds like a couple of ghosts, nothing crazy but we thought we'd check it out." Dean lies, glancing warningly at you.

"You guys looking for backup? I can probably spare a few days to travel out there with ya'."

You interrupt before Dean has a chance to shut him down. "You know what? We could probably use it, there's a few different cases, could get complicated." You look at a fuming Dean. "How about we leave in the morning? That way Joey can get some sleep."

"We're good." Dean says stiffly. "Nothing we can't handle."

"You sure? I'm more than happy to-"

"Thanks Joey but we've got it." He looks at you, and his entire face is pinched with a murderous look that you can read like a book. He's warning you to keep your mouth shut. "Y/N I'm gonna grab the last of our stuff."

You nod, because what other choice do you have?

He heads to the bedroom, and you watch him go, until Joey's next words snap you out of your thoughts.

"We need to go."

"What-"

"I know about him, Sam told me everything. We gotta go before he comes back."

"Sam?" You blink. "Fuck, is he here?"

"No he's searching motels, I heard that Dean attacked Ben today, somewhere around here, and this is the only safe house for miles."

"Joey you need to get Sam over here so we can help him."

"Help him? Y/N he's a demon! We gotta get you safe."

"No, me and Sam promised- If we leave now we're gonna lose him again, and how knows how many people he's going to hurt." You whisper-yell back. Joey latches onto your arm, tugging you towards the door.

"Honey I know you care about him but it's not worth you getting hurt."

"Joey I can't leave him." You implore. "We have to help him."

"Come on, please, you need to trust me on this okay? Please?"

"I do, I do trust you but I can't leave."

He stops trying to pull you and steps into your space, seizing your face with both hands, looking down at you with desperation. "You three are all the same you know that? Always throwing your lives away for each other like they don't matter to anyone else."

You remember the heartbreak and the pain the time you'd left him. Left him to go back to hunting with Sam and Dean, because no matter what, no matter how much you'd loved him then, you couldn't sit there, in a town in Tennessee, in the same house. You couldn't abandon the road, and you couldn't abandon them.

"I'm sorry." You say, and it's for then and for now.

"I'm not letting you do that this time." He tells you hoarsely, and the problem is you don't love him the same anymore, not after the time and distance and everything you've been through.

"I can't go with you." You breathe back, leaning in, pressing your lips to his. It's a goodbye, the expulsion of lingering feelings that have been stirred up within your depths. Whereas the last time was hard, gut wrenching and full of agony, this is like casting a weight off, letting old things go.

The problem also is that you probably love Dean more than you ever loved him, but that fact is too humiliating to begin to think about.

"You're not staying with him, come on-"

"Leaving so soon?" Dean's voice sends chills down your spine, turning all your blood into ice. You turn around to see him leaning casually against the corridor door-frame.

Joey's hands tighten back around your arms, pushing you behind him, standing in between you and Dean. "Let her go Dean. We'll leave and I won't tell Sam where you were and you can carry on."

"See I don't want to let her go." Dean shakes his head. "And you think I care if Sammy knows where we are? I'll just kill him and he'll finally be off my back."

"Joey you need to run." You hiss, but he ignores you.

"Don't make me hurt you Dean."

Dean just grins and you feel sick.

"Joey don't!" You scream, as he lunges at Dean, pulling a knife out of his jacket. Dean grabs his arms easily, amped up with demonic super-strength, and twists them behind his back so aggressively you can hear the snap of something in Joey's shoulder joints as he yells out in pain.

"Dean- Dean stop!" You yell over the commotion, as you watch Dean push Joey to the floor and stomp so hard on his head something else cracks, blood dripping from his nose. "Dean just fucking leave it!"

He slams his boot over and over again into Joey's head, and the floor is splattered with blood and spit as Joey finally, mercifully rolls over, unconscious. You had lept up, trying to push Dean away from him, but he'd sent you crashing face-first to the floor. You know after the next kick, that Joey hasn't made it. You know he's gone.

Dean leaves you lying on the ground while he drags the body outside.

You crawl painfully towards the front door, but Dean comes back and bends over you, fisting one hand in your hair, and the other around your bicep, pulling you to standing.

"You didn't have to kill him you sadistic fuck." You spit at him, saliva landing on his cheek. He lets go of your hair to wipe his face, pupils dilated.

"You're upset about him? That little fucking pussy?"

"He was the love of my life at one point, asshole." You grimace. You'd bit through your lip when you'd slammed into the floor, and blood coated your lips. "And you knew that."

Dean's jaw clenches and he pulls you so close against his your noses almost smush together. "Damn right I did, but imagine my surprise when I walk in on you kissing him in the living room?"

"I was saying goodbye."

"What was the plan? You gonna run away with him and then chase me down with Sammy?"

"I was saying goodbye to him, I wasn't going to leave."

"Bullshit, you really expect me to believe that?"

"You're so fucking insecure." You snarl. "All that posturing and the moment I'm in the room with another guy you get so jealous you have to beat him to death."

"Damn right I'm fucking jealous." He's grinning like he was just before he murdered Joey, that deranged look in his eyes with a brilliant, maniacal smile. "You're mine, but you're kissing some little shit while I'm in the house."

The little twisted part of you screams in delight.

His hand comes up to your throat, dancing over every mark he left on your skin. "Was this not enough of a reminder, hm?"

"I already told you, I wasn't going to leave." You reply through gritted teeth. You don't normally snap back at his insanity, but you've got a healthy dose of whiskey in your system and some masochistic streak that's come alive.

You're both sick freaks, like every hunter you know. All damaged, broken, messy people, with no emotional regulation and attachment issues. You're sick enough to love how he owns you, how much he gets off on knowing how to get you on your back no matter your protests.

Dean narrows his eyes. "How stupid do you think I am, sweetheart?"

"Joey got tipped off by Sam, heard about the hunter you got into it with and that's how he found us. He grabbed me and tried to get me to go and I said no. That's the truth." You say honestly, eyes boring into his.

"Why'd you say no, hm?" Dean tilts his wrist so you're forced to look up.

"I still think we can save you." You don't blink. "I don't want to lose you."

"Save me? I've been saved Y/N."

"I don't care about what you think Dean. I love you, and I'm not letting you go."

"And you still almost ran off with your little lover boy."

You lean in so your lips barely touch his, and he lets you. "I don't want to leave you. I'm yours, and you're mine."

You really do want to slap him upside the head, because despite all the bravado that comes with being a demon, it's still the same, insecure, struggling Dean, the one that can't accept that he's worthy of being loved, of being worshipped, of being cared about.

"You're such an idiot." You continue. "I'm not leaving, not until I get you back. The real you."

He lets go of you, taking a step back. "How do I get it through your fucking head that this is me Y/N, that I like being like this, huh?"

"You're such a bad liar." You taunt, circling him. "You're desperate for me to agree because you don't even really believe that, because you know it's fucking bullshit."

"I'm desperate?" He snorts. "You're such a needy little slut, kissing him here, setting me off, you're just begging for me to bend you over and fuck some sense into you."

His filthy words tighten in your stomach, heat rising up your back and shoulders, creeping up your neck.

He keeps going. "That's why you wanted to run off with him? Needed another guy wrapped around your little finger?" He laughs, like its funny. "You think he could give you what you need like I can?"

"Jesus fucking Christ." You mutter in exasperation under your breath, as you surge forward to shove him back down on the couch. He falls into the cushions, tensing to get back up, before relaxing when you settle on your knees in front of him.

You run your hand up his muscly thighs, spread out wide either side of you. He watches you like a hawk, eyes half-lidded, still full of distrust. You push yourself forward, leaning your weight on his legs, so you're face to face.

"You're the only man I want." You breathe out. "I knew it since you found me in that training room."

You drop back down, undoing his belt, pulling the leather through the metal, and pull down his zip, tugging the jeans down his hips along with his underwear. His dick is already half-hard, and you wrap one hand around it, looking into his dark eyes as you work him.

His fists clench as you move your hand up and down slowly, gazing at him through your eyelashes. You can feel his length rapidly hardening, as his breaths become quicker, knuckles glowing a brighter white.

You dip your head to run your tongue along the side, tracing a prominent vein from the base to the tip, relishing in the little hiss that escapes him as your press a kiss to the sensitive head on his cock.

"I love you." You say, tilting your head to sloppily kiss his shaft, letting spit smear over his dick and your lips. "I'm never letting you go."

Just like he claimed you, you claim him.

"Fuck baby, stop being a fucking tease." He tries to command you, but it comes out strangled and desperate.

You still listen to him though, closing your lips around him and taking him in, hollowing out your cheeks and bobbing your head up and down gently. His hips buck shallowly into you mouth when you swirl your tongue around his tip, accompanied with a moan.

His hand cups the side of your face, fingers in your hair, guiding you faster, deeper, and you let him, let him take control, let him use you. He can't stop moaning out praises.

"Yeah, just like that baby, fuck, yes, good girl."

He fucks up harder into your mouth, and you almost gag on him as he reaches your throat, but you breathe through your nose, flicking your tongue all around the places that get his hand to tighten, his hips to stutter. He like to be in control, but you're the one making him lose his composure, making him fall apart.

There's a certain power in being the one on your knees, but you don't really care, because you just want to prove how much you love him.

You can feel him getting closer, the way he thrusts get sloppy, more desperate, the way he tugs your hair slightly to hang on, you egg him closer to the edge, flattening out your tongue, but he pulls out, spit dribbling out of the corners of your mouth.

"Need to come inside you." He pants, helping you onto his lap. You're so wet you don't even hesitate, just help him slide inside of you while you settle on his thighs, clutching his shoulders tightly. His arms curl around your waist, letting you rock gently against him, adjusting to him with a series of whimpering moans that escape your lips into his ear.

He starts to fuck into you, turning his head to kiss you messily, tongue and teeth and everything that has you melting into a puddle at his fucking feet, if he wasn't holding you up in his arms. You grind down on his pelvis, seeking that little bit of friction to send you over.

"Fuck Dean." You moan loudly, tugging harshly at the hair at the base of his neck.

"That's what you need baby? Acting like a fucking brat when all you needed was my dick in your mouth, huh?"

His words are so vulgar and condescending and they hit just right, shooting white hot bullets into your gut, tightening that coil.

"Fuck you, I had to shut you up somehow." You pant against him, as he fills you up so perfectly, stretches you so well.

Your world is thrown sideways as he slams you onto the couch, pressing your back down into the cushions and slamming into you at a bruising pace.

"Still running your fucking mouth are you sweetheart? Clearly I'm not doing my job well enough."

You can barely moan out his name, eyes rolling at the brutal pace he sets, gasping out garbled pleas and cries of pleasure, begging him to go harder, faster, to bury himself inside of you. You're teetering, so close to your climax.

"Please, please, please." You chant like a mantra, moaning it out like a prayer.

"Come on baby, come on my cock, you can do it." Dean says breathlessly into you ear, before he kisses you.

You lock your legs around him when you finally do topple off that edge, digging your nails into his back as sparks erupt up the length of your spine, sending little shudders like aftershocks through your entire body. You think you came so hard you might of shattered apart, trembling and shaking like a leaf.

You're squeezing him like a vice and he finishes seconds after you do, hot ropes of cum pulsing inside of you. You can't bring yourself to care.

Dean stays buried inside of you, tilting your head so your focus comes back on him, him and his pitch black eyes, the reminder that the man you love, no matter how much you can pretend, is still not really here.

And so when he kisses you again, there's that little creeping doubt back in your mind, the one he can never really, truly, fuck out of you, no matter how hard he tries.

"You're mine." He whispers hoarsely, lips trailing down to your jaw. "No one can take you."

"I'm yours." You repeat, looping your arms back around his neck and lifting your chin so you can bring your lips together again. "And you're mine."

The smirk he gives you is pure evil, enough the make the hairs on the back of your neck stand up.

"All yours baby, always yours."

"One day I'm going to save you, you know that right?" You tilt your head to admire him, flicking your eyes over the man in front of you.

"One day I'm going to make you learn that you're never going to." He replies easily, but the adoration that can still break through the haze of his demon self doesn't slip from his eyes, which have returned to normal.

You're both sick freaks, like every hunter you know, stubborn, broken, desperate, clinging onto one another like lifeboats in a storm.

Chapter Text

"Dean? Dean don't you fucking dare."

Both of you are facing off over a queen bed with godawful green-yellow covers, a familiar situation. There's been hundreds of trips, and hundreds of arguments in hundreds of shitty, run down motels.

"C'mon sweetheart, live a little!"

"Don't even start, or so help me god-"You don't even know what you'll do, so you drift off your sentence, glaring at him. He's concocted some idea that the perfect addition to the already fucked up mess of your situation is to add a sociopathic demon with a penchant for being so fucking insufferable you'd rather throw yourself head-first into oncoming traffic then have a conversation with him.

In fewer words, he wants to work with Crowley.

Crowley.

"He just wants a few jobs done, it'll be fun! We can hit the road, you and me, and I can show you- I can show you how freeing it fucking is when you let all your shit go!"

"I am notworking with that slimy little rat and neither are you."

"I can't make you work with him, but you're coming along." Dean replies flatly, placing his hands on his hips.

"I'll throw myself out of the fucking car if I have to." You snap, mirroring him.

"Don't be dramatic."

Anger slaps you in the face so hard you almost recoil. "You think that's me being dramatic?" Your voice rises to a shriek. "Oh I'll show you fucking dramatic-"

You launch yourself over the bed, taking your swinging arm with you. You land on top of him, sending the pair of you toppling over, while you smack him wherever you can reach, like a feral cat, all bared canines and sharp claws.

"Y/N!" Dean's voice rises to a shout. "Stop!"

"Motherfucking piece of shit, I swear to god- if you even fucking try to make me work with him!" Your voice is shrill, screeching out a series of disconnected sentences in your anger, punctuated by flying fists.

He doesn't let you go on for long, rolling you both over so most of your body is pinned underneath his. His eyes have flickered to pitch black, and his face is deadly. He seizes your wrists and pulls your arms so tightly above your head it feels like your shoulders are going to dislocate.

"Calm the fuck down." He snarls in your face, but all common sense has flown by the wayside. You were the girl who decided to love the demon, after all, you clearly lacked self-preservation when it came to Dean and how much of a hot, annoying asshole he was.

Instead of stopping, you head-butt him, colliding your forehead with his nose. His head snaps back violently, with a shout of surprise. Blood dribbles down from his nostril, coating his upper lip.

Dean switches both of your wrists into one of his hands, yanking them up further so they wrench in their sockets, making you scream out in pain. The other hand clamps down, half on your throat and half on your chin, slamming your head into the carpeted floor.

With every limb immobilised, there's nothing you can do but lie helplessly and glare with all the disgust you can muster. Dean licks off the blood on his lips, smiling sadistically as you whimper in pain. He's got your arms contorted so that even breathing too deeply sends streaks of white-hot pain running through the joints of your shoulder, and your head pounds from the collision between your forehead and his face.

Dean has a cut under his eye, and a split lip on top of the hopefully broken nose, but you'd never know, not the way he's bearing down on you with a hungry look in his black eyes, a smile of his face that makes the hairs on the back of your neck stand up.

It's the type of look that sends every instinct into overdrive, like a prey caught in a predator's sight lines, bodies hard-wired to run, escape.

"Sorry to interrupt your lover's quarrel-"

You scream in shock, while Dean manages to stop any signs of surprise escape him at the sound of Crowley's voice. Of course he could get in. You had no protections against demons, no runes, no wards, nothing, because Dean was there with you, and he wouldn't be able to get in otherwise.

"Dean get off." You grit out through clenched teeth, barely able to contain the seething rage you feel. Not only because of the knowledge that he did this behind your back, but with the humiliation of being pinned completely at Dean's mercy on the floor in front of the king of hell.

"Orwhatever copulation rituals you two like to get into." Crowley finishes after you beat back cardiac arrest at his sudden arrival.

Dean releases you, pushing himself to his feet in front of Crowley. You can't do anything but lie there, slightly dazed and trying to muster up the strength to pull yourself upright.

"This is why you haven't been answering my calls?" Crowley asks Dean, nodding down at you.

Dean chuckles. "As you can see, I've had a lot goin' on."

Finally, you're able to push yourself up shakily to your knees, holding onto the end of the bed frame as support to rise to standing. You brace yourself against the bed, eyes narrowed into slits.

"He's not helping you, so fuck off."

Crowley's eyebrows lift slightly, bemusement sparkling on his face. "Is that so Dean?"

Dean cracks into a wider smile. "Actually, that's what we were just discussing, weren't we sweetheart?"

"You want me to break your jaw next time?" It's an empty threat, because Dean's nose has fixed itself already, split lit and cut eye already healed over. It wouldn't do much, not even stop him talking for more than five minutes.

"If you don't mind me interjecting," Crowley steps forward, addressing you now, arms pulled behind his back; "but it seems to me that Dean may have won that discussion."

"I do mind." You snap back at him. "And that's only because you showed up halfway through."

Physically you couldn't have won, but there's other ways to get men on their knees. Other ways to break them down.

A look flashes in Dean's eyes that makes you think he's going to show you just how much you lost that last altercation. You'd deal with him later, because right now the King of Hell was trying to loop you into some pathetic road-trip for antisocial freaks.

"Y/N, Dean tells me you're hellbent on changing him back." Crowley's voice is sympathetic, if not patronising. "I simply wished to help you see how his new... situation has helped him discover his full potential."

You roll your eyes. "Give me a fucking break Crowley. I get it, you're a King, you have no friends, so you made one and cling onto him like he's your new puppy or something. I get you're a demon and lack the understanding of interpersonal relationships a five-year-old might have. I get your Mom didn't love you enough and now you're an insecure little man with some kind of complex I don't even want to get into. I get it, I do, but Dean is not free,he has had his humanity stolen from him and he's hanging on by a fucking thread."

Crowley blinks, stunned for a second, and then bursts into laughter. "Oh I likeher Dean, what a terrific pick."

You'd prickle at the demeaning way he speaks about you, like you're some cute little pet Dean had picked up from a store, but really, he had taken you, albeit fairly willingly, because he'd chosen you.

Even through the black hole of his demon heart, he'd chosen you.

Dean's smirking, and it's enough to knock you straight out of the train of sentimental thoughts, and right back into barely contained annoyance. You truly, truly, did not understand how you could love this man sometimes, right now being one of them.

"Crowley, get out." You jerk your head towards the door, walking to stand next to Dean. He wraps a thick arm around your waist, fingers cupping the flesh of your hip.

"Well now you see Y/N," Crowley's hands are clasped in front of him now, and he tilts his head slightly, adopting that same stupid tone as before. "You two have been so busy that I haven't seen Dean in weeks, and I rather missed our little rendezvous. I thought I'd pay you two lovebirds a little visit to see how my partner was doing, and you've been quite stand-offish."

"I'm stand-offish because I think you're a two faced little troll and I don't like you."

Dean's hand tightens in a warning. "You'll have to forgive her Crowley, it's been a little bit of an adjustment." Dean lowers his voice like you're not right next to him, glaring daggers into the side of his head. "I had to force her hand a little bit, if you know what I mean."

"Yes Dean we know you kidnapped me and I'm only tolerating it because I love you and you're not in your right mind." You say loudly, crossing your arms.

"Trouble in paradise?" Crowley winks and you almost bite through your lip trying not to slap him. For him it's the ultimate game, the power in being the one to make others uncomfortable, to be so shameless that everyone else are the ones to cower in shame. Shame that controls them, buries them.

"Foreplay." You answer with an exaggerated purr, leaning your hip into Dean's side, shining a bright white smile right back at Crowley, who's own widens like the fucking Cheshire cat. Dean's fingers tighten and un-tighten at your side, in a sort of spasm.

"You've got more demon in you than you'd like to admit Y/N." Crowley says knowingly. "Because it certainly isn't angel."

"It's human." You don't even blink, eyes trained on him like a hawk. "Just like Dean, even through you can't admit it."

"We'll see." Crowley hums, turning his attention to a silent Dean. And just like that, suddenly, you've lost his interest, that baring scrutiny that adds weight onto your chest. "Well I'll let you get on with whatever debauchery I walked in on before, and I'll see you tomorrow?"

"We'll be there." Dean confirms, and you don't even have a chance to get pissed off at the use of the word we, because Crowley disappears before your eyes. You turn your head to face Dean.

"If you make me spend tomorrow with him I'm going to claw out your eyes."

Dean turns, his right hand trailing across your back to rest on your waist, his left resting in an identical place. He tugs you closer, so you're almost pressed against him. "Naw it'll be fun, I promise."

"Bullshit." You breathe, winding your arms around his neck.

"We'll get some bad guys for your conscience baby, you'll love it."

"Not happening Dean." You ghost your lips over his, pulling away with a smug smile when he keens forward desperately. "Not a fuckin' chance."

"C'mon Y/N." Dean's fingertips trail down the plain of your stomach, dancing over the waistline of your jeans. His thumbs hook underneath your panties, tugging them down slightly with the weight of his hand, revealing the skin of your pelvis.

You steady yourself on his broad shoulders, your heartbeat ramping steadily higher as his fingers slip lower. Dean slowly lowers himself onto his knees, mouth trailing hot, light kisses from underneath your belly button, down the soft flesh of your belly.

Your hands shift from resting on his shoulders to cupping his head, fingers weaving through his hair as he slowly works your pants from you. You know what he's trying to do, trying to break down those walls of staunch independence and have you pliant and needy. Suggestible.

You let him, for now, because he's good at what he does. Let him light your skin on fire with the heat of his lips, soothe it with the balm of his calloused hands. He pulls your legs up to step out of your pants, peeling off your socks as they go.

When his hands return to splay over your upper thighs your fingers tighten in his hair, using the leverage to tug his head back. His hands freeze, looking up at you.

"You think this'll convince me Dean?" You ask, voice sugary sweet. "You think I need you?"

He doesn't say anything, eyes half lidded, coloured with a mixture of curiosity and confusion and arousal. You let go of his head and instead plant your foot on his wide chest, giving him a little shove backwards. It doesn't move him, but he drops his hands and inches away from you.

You sit on the edge of the bed, bare legs pressed together, surveying him with a smirk. Dean's still on his knees on the floor, watching you with a smouldering intensity that makes you feel like you can't breathe. You swallow it down.

You push yourself back on the bed, so that you're leaning against the headboard, and nod towards one of the chairs at the table. Dean pauses, but eventually stands up, dragging the chair to the wall opposite you and the bed, sitting down heavily.

He's mouth watering really, muscled thighs spread out, hair mussed, beard growing in. His flannel is rolled up to his elbows, thick forearms on display. The air is thick with tension, so heavy both of you struggle to breathe as you look at each other.

Slowly, you wiggle off your shirt, pulling it over your head and tossing it to the side, your bra quickly following. Dean's jaw clenches so tightly you can see the muscles bulging, and you could swear you heard his teeth grinding. Satisfied with the fact you have him hooked on every little thing you do, you slowly open your legs, spreading them before him.

You think Dean almost suffocates himself from shock, forgetting to breathe. His hands clench and unclench over his thighs, knuckles turning bright white.

You trail your fingers down from your collar bones, sliding in between the valleys of your breasts and down your stomach, reaching the apex of your thighs. Gently, you draw circles over your clit with one hand, the other coming to pinch at your nipple.

Your breathy moan almost kills Dean, every part of him stiffening to listen to you. You apply more pressure, circling faster, toes curling. You feel electrified under his gaze, like a buzz is running under your skin. The coil in your gut tightens and curls, flooding fuzzy heat into your cheeks and the combined feeling of your oncoming orgasm and Dean's unblinking, unwavering enthralment is almost too much.

But you have the upper hand. You have him at your mercy, sitting in the chair, watching.

"Dean." You moan out, leg twitching. "You think I need you? I can take care of myself. I'm choosingto be with you."

"Y/N." Dean's voice is short, gritted, like if he leaves his mouth open for too long he's going to lose control. He grips the armrests of the chair and moves to stand up, so you immediately stop, hands flying to the bedsheets either side of you.

"Don't fucking move." You snap, and instantly, he falls back into the chair. "Let me show you."

When you continue, it's hard and fast, messy and desperate, arched back and splayed hair, wide, open-mouthed moans. It's so shameless, the way you're spread out for him, hand between your legs and the other dancing on your bare chest, but it is so exhilarating, watching him come undone.

Dean's a mess.His arousal is obvious, hard through his jeans, jaw clenched so tightly you'd be surprised if his teeth hadn't cracked, hands balled into fists on his legs. And you, you're so close, chasing your high, feeling starbursts in your stomach, feeling that pleasure creep up your spine.

"Mm, oh fuck, fuck." You can't even form proper sentences, no longer putting on a show, as you cum, hips bucking, muscles so taunt they start to cramp, head thrown back on the pillows. Dean lets out a low hiss at the sight, which only eggs you on.

You come down from your high, breathing heavily, and peel yourself up from the bedcovers, like you hadn't just melted and fallen apart. On legs that feel like jelly, you make your way to Dean, slithering your arms around his neck. The veins in his neck bulge, and he breathes in sharply through his nose when you slide into his lap, straddling his thighs.

"See?" You whisper, tilting your head as you examine him, how much you've succeeded in breaking him. "I'm not here because I need you, baby, I'm here because I love you."

One hand slips down his chest, to his belt, pulling the leather through the metal. You can practically hear his heartbeat hammering through his chest, feel the quick, jumpy inhales as you brush against him.

"So, when I tell you I'm not doing something-" You whip the belt through the loops of his pants, tossing it to the side. Your other hand comes down to undo the buttons on his jeans, and pull down the fly, pulling him out of his pants. You lean in so that your teeth graze his ear, gripping him firmly. "I'm not fucking doing it."

"Y/N- please." Dean's voice is ragged and desperate, as you slowly move your hand up and down, teasing him.

"Say it." You hiss into his ear, as his hands come up to grip your ass.

"No working with Crowley okay, I got it, now baby please."

"Good." You straighten up, quickening your pace, and he bucks into your hand, hips jerking involuntarily. Both of you know that this could be short lived, that Dean could just as easily pick you up and throw you onto the bed and fuck you so hard into the mattress you wouldn't be able to walk, and you'd probably let him.

But, Dean needs to learn a valuable lesson, and you're more than happy to teach him. One that helps him understand that you'll fight tooth and nail for the people you love, and that includes him.

"Shit." Dean groans as you swipe your thumb over the sensitive tip, hands tightening on your ass. You'll definitely have bruises tomorrow, and it won't be the first time you've woken up with Dean's purple fingerprints on your pale butt-cheek.

"I love you." You tell him, joining your lips in a feral kiss. He meets you with ferocity, tongue and teeth and spit, kissing you so hard you think he's split your lip, the metallic tang of blood invading your mouth. He chases you when you pull back, so you pull you hand off him and force his head back, which he fucking whines at.

"C'mon baby, I'm so close." He pants, trying to grind into your inner thigh. You sit there, waiting, and he stares back, wide eyed.

"Do you love me Dean?" Your voice is strong, even though you feel a bit shaky on the inside.

"I'm a demon Y/N." Dean's reply is quick. You don't give him a reprieve, staring right at him. "Y/N come on!"

"Do you love me Dean?" He knows what you want, knows what it will take your you to help him out. He weighs the options.

"Yes! Yes I love you, now please, just please fucking do something!" You don't leave him hanging longer, kissing him again with the same intensity, resuming your motions that have him trembling beneath you. It's not long before he's cursing into your mouth, hot spurts of cum coating your hand.

"I love you." He whispers shakily against your lips, eyes their bright green.

"I love you too." You whisper back.

You won this time, despite Crowley's best efforts, you won, because you shattered Dean's desperate demon facade. You made him love, made him be human, despite the lengths he'd gone to in order to cling onto the hope of being whole, of not hurting.

Hurting is part of the beauty of it all, the truly human thing you can do.

To love and to hurt, to be human.

He'd never last as a demon, and you're never letting him go.

Chapter Text

You're mad at Dean, and you don't even really remember why, something stupid probably, not that it matters. What matters is the fact that you're mad.

He's an insensitive jerk, so bad at playing pretend emotionless demon it'd be comical if it didn't drive you insane. He's slipping, and you've almost got it, but he pushed it too far and you snuck out while he was sleeping so you could just get some fucking space.

"Sam? Sam?" You say into the payphone, glancing around like anyone would be there, fifty miles out from the motel you're staying in, some country bumpkin town with one gas station and a hardware store in the middle of Idaho. "Are you there?"

"Y/N?" Sam's voice is filled with relief. You've kept him updated the best that you could the past months since the night Dean took you, but it's been a while since you've been able to get some space from Dean. He's clingier than usual, an annoying side affect of slowly turning him back to human.

"Hey Sam." You lean up against the dusty wooden shelter that's constructed by the side of the road to keep the phone box out of the weather.

"Where are you guys?"

"Uh somewhere in Idaho, I had to get out far to find a payphone with no one around. I'm staying with Dean in Pocatello."

"Are you okay?"

"Everything's fine, Dean's getting better. I stopped him from going with Crowley and he admitted he loved me."

You neglect to inform Sam on how exactly you managed that, because neither of you need that information repeated in the open.

"Good, that's good, that's progress." Sam's voice crackles through the receiver, and it hurts you a little, because he's so far away. "We're so close."

"Where are you?"

"Colorado, I had a lot of clean up to do in Tennessee."

Tennessee. Joey and Ben. The silence ticks between you as you swallow down the guilt.

"Everyone alright down there?"

"They're angry but, they're alive. I managed to convince them that he's still with Crowley so they're not too keen on going after him."

"And me?"

"An unwilling hostage, only half a lie."

You sigh heavily, and the shitty payphone clouds with ear splitting static before returning to normal. "You coming up to us?"

"Hopin' so, yeah. I got close back there, but fuck I-"

"You had two choices, and honestly Sam? He'd probably have killed you there as well."

"The two of us though-"

"He had me chained to a pole and smacked the crap out of me when I tried to stop him goin' after Joey. He's a demon, we can't stop him unless we trap him or kill him."

"Or fix him."

"Or fix him." You repeat. "Look, it's going to be tough to keep him here, he's getting paranoid. There's a few cases in the south of Nebraska, so if we head there, you can meet us."

"The vampire nest and the poltergeist?"

"Yeah, and who knows, maybe there's a few ghosts that I've dug up too, just to make it really exciting." You roll your eyes to yourself while you say it. Truthfully, you're exhausted, bone-deep. You're tired of loving a man so desperate to pretend he can't, and you just want Dean back. "I can't keep doing this Sam, we've been all over the fucking country and I just can't keep going."

"I know, I know, but this is the last time, okay? I know where the cases are, so go to Nebraska and I'll meet you there. We'll trap him and we'll finish this."

"Okay." You take a deep inhale, tapping your fingers nervously on the rotted wood. "Okay, okay, we'll either head off tonight, or today, and if you get there first, stay in the town over, in case there's demons there that warn him. I'll call when we get there."

"I'll start movin'" Sam says, and you almost move to hang up. "Hey Y/N?"

"Yeah?"

"Hang in there, we're so close."

"I'll try my best." You smile. "See ya' Sam."

"See you soon Y/N."

You put the phone back on the hook, rolling your shoulders out as you make your way back to the Impala. You know Dean's probably worked himself up into a state back in your motel, and you're definitely going to get an earful when you finally get back home.

Oh well.

You pull out of the dusty car park and swing back onto the road, drumming your fingers on the steering wheel in tune with the music.

"You- you-"

Dean's tomato red, spluttering incoherently.

"Took the Impala and went on a drive, yes." You finish for him dryly, crossing your arms and leaning against the body of the car.

"Where?"

You shrug. "Around."

"No, no, don't you fucking pull that with me, where did you go?"

"I don't know, I just wanted to go for a drive! I didn't goanywhere, I just went down the road and back."

"Jesus Y/N." Dean runs his hands through his hair angrily. "Don't fucking do that again."

"She's fine, I didn't damage your precious baby."

"It's not about her." He snaps, then pauses to do a once-over on his beloved car. "But if you had damaged her-"

"Yeah, yeah, I know. Me and her are both fine Dean, so you don't have to give yourself a premature heart attack."

"Fuckin' hell." You hear him mutter under his breath, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Promise me."

"Promise you what?"

"You know damn well-"

"Fine yes, I promise I won't do that again."

"You are the biggest pain in my ass, you know that? I woke up and you're gone and so is my car, and I have no idea where you are!"

"Well that's the only way I can get some fucking peace!" You throw your hands in the air. "If I let you know, you just follow me!"

"Because you're a dumbass who always gets herself into shit, and the moment I leave you alone-"

"Leave me alone?" You scoff loudly and with derision. "I'm a goddamn grown woman, not a five year old child."

Dean's lips flatten into a line, and his nostrils flare in and out so aggressively it makes him look like some kind of lizard.

"If I want to go out," you continue, taking a step forward so that you're almost toe to toe, "I'll go out, I don't need to ask your permission. Maybe, I'll do you the courtesy of letting you know, but I won't fucking ask."

"You want me to go back to tying you up?"

Rage bubbles in your blood, almost reaching a boiling point. "Try it, I'll fucking cut your hand off. Have fun trying to regrow that."

You don't have time to react as he lunges forward, gripping your arm painfully, and dragging you back with him to the motel room. You squirm in his grip, but the more you twist, the worse it hurts your arm. He yanks you into the room, and locks the door behind the both of you.

"What the fuck is up with you?"

"Me?" You don't back down, getting right into his face, hands on your hips. "You're the one who's decided to act like my fucking father."

Dean doesn't blink. "Calm down."

"Go to hell." You turn to go to the bathroom.

"Already been there baby!" Dean calls out behind you, and you whirl around to shoot him a dirty look, before slamming the door shut.

You shuck your clothes off and step into the shower. You watch the soapy suds twirl down the shower drain at your feet, the smell of fake lavender soap from the cheap little bottles permeating through the air. When you step out the droplets cling and freeze on your skin, and you wrap yourself firmly in a towel.

Dean's sitting on the bed when you step out, fidgeting with something from one of the duffel bags open on the duvet. He glances up when he hears the door open, and looks you up and down appreciatively, with a grin on his face.

"You're such a perv." You rifle in your bag for something clean to wear, not bothering to give him the satisfaction of meeting his eyes. You drop the towel, but resolutely refuse to pick your eyes up from the bed spread while you wiggle your clothes on. You can feel Dean's unyielding gaze, feel it burns holes into you.

When you're finally fully clothed, you turn around, narrowing your eyes in disdain. "Seriously?"

"Can you blame me?"

"Fucking gross." You mutter under your breath, untangling your hair with your fingers, sitting down next to him. "There's nothing around here, we should move pretty soon."

"Not a lot around anywhere." Dean points out. "Closest couple of cases is Nebraska, but they seem pretty tame."

"It's better than nothing." You shrug. "Better than a pit-stop in Pocatello."

"Aw c'mon it's got a little charm." Dean grins in that supermodel-handsome way, showing the perfect rows of teeth behind his plump lips. "Could get used to it."

"I would literally rather die."

"You settled down in Tennessee."

"And that worked out so well."

"You considered it once." Dean's little smile returns. "Just sayin'."

"You can't still be jealous about that."

"Nah not jealous." He puts down some contraption he was holding and pulls out a machete from the bag, tilting it so he can look down at the handle. "Just thinking."

"That's never good." You try to interject some humour, but your half-hearted joke falls flat in the suffocating tension that's slowly building between you two.

"I did it once, it was-"

You stiffen. "It didn't last."

"It wasn't with you."

"What's this about?" You arch an eyebrow.

He shrugs. "Crowley offered me a job, while you were out."

He catches your face changing instantly, yanking you down when you try to stand up abruptly. "Baby just hear me out-"

"The next words out of your mouth better be that you told him you're not interested." You snap, trying to tug your hand out of his.

"I told him no." Dean grabs your other arm, which was flailing around in your attempt to get him to let you go. "But it's good Y/N, it's not like hunting, finding one case on the other side of the country every other month, there's heaps of jobs to do, we could go anywhere, and we could stay there."

"Heaps of jobs for Crowley." You hiss. "I told you, there's no fucking way."

"I know you hate Crowley, but you can look past him, this could be good for us." Dean lets go of you, and you shoot to standing, marching over the bags on the floor.

"I'm not even talking about this with you." You start shoving your things into your bags. "We're going to Nebraska."

Dean slides up behind you, wrapping his arms tightly around your waist, and burying his face in you neck. Dean's hand has snaked over your forearm, but you're too distracted to properly notice.

"You know, Crowley and I talked about some other stuff too. We talked about you, why I wouldn't take it, what your plan was. He had some interesting information for me."

Dean's hand tightens painfully, so strong you can swear you almost hear the bones creaking in your forearm.

"Like about what you were doing when you snuck out on me."

You freeze, and then immediately turn to cover it. "What are you talking about?"

Oh baby." Dean smiles as he shakes his head. "Did you think someone wouldn't find out? You two are so sloppy."

His eyes flicker to black, pools staring straight through you. The icy terror is creeping its way down your spine.

You laugh, a little too high pitched, and you know Dean will clock it. "That's what he went for? If he was going to try and manipulate you into getting rid of me, he should come up with a better plan than that."

Dean's face contorts into something that could almost be described as excited if it didn't look so non-human. "You know, I was hoping you'd just tell me the truth, if I gave you a chance, that you and Sammy weren't going behind my back this whole time."

There's a pause, before Dean yanks you towards him, both large hands gripping your biceps, forcing your shoulders together. In an instant, you're on the defensive.

"Dean, Dean, baby, listen to me-"

"Y/N." He cuts you off, tugging you even closer so that there's barely a centimetre separating you. "Is it true?"

"No, no, I promise. I haven't been talking to Sam, I swear."

Dean smiles at you, almost lovingly, caressing the back of his fingers across your temple. "Aw baby, you gonna act all tough for me? Gonna make me get it out of you?"

"Stop. Stop it." You jerk your head away from his hand and try and push at his chest to get some space. "Let go of me."

"Naw, I think it's time you got another reminder, huh?" He grabs you, lifting you up so you're dangling over his shoulder, kicking and screaming.

"Put me down you son of bitch!" You shriek, slapping your hands as hard as you can into his back, hoping you can create enough noise to bring in a nosy neighbour, and annoyed manager, anyone who can break the terrifying focus Dean has right now.

He slams you down on the bed so hard the mattress makes you bounce, your wet hair splaying all over the sheets. You don't move, because you know you can't fight it, just stare up at him, standing at the foot of the bed.

"I'm well aware of what you're capable of, why do you think I haven't bothered to contact Sam!" You argue frantically.

"Really?" He hums, rounding the bed so he's next to your head. "I don't think so."

"I'm not lying." You're looking up at him, wide-eyed. "Dean, I promise, I'm not lying."

Without warning his arm whips out, snatching your wrist and pinning it to the mattress. You kick up, writhing out of his hold, punching him squarely in the face with your free hand. He lets out a guttural grunt as his head snaps back violently, eyes flicking straight to black empty pools. It's not even enough to get him to let go, and he springs on top of you, dragging you up to the headboard of the bed.

"Just tell me the truth Y/N, and I promise I won't hurt you." He coos, clamping one of his hands down on the lower half of your face, so you can't move or speak, wriggling feebly underneath him. The other has both of your wrists pinned into the pillows. His face breaks into a small smile, amused at his own words. "At least nothing too bad."

You kick your legs out, trying to force your hips up to buck him off you and the bed, and the smile is instantly wiped off his face. The hand slips down, pressure pressing into your throat, not enough to cut off the air, but enough to make you feel the blood pound in your face.

"Stop fucking fighting me." He hisses while you turn red. "Just tell me what you and Sammy have been up to."

"Nothing." You manage to gasp out once he lessens his grip, but the hand is still closed around your neck. "Dean, get off me!"

"Not until you stop fucking lying to me." His voice is acidic, hot lips brushing your ear. "Don't make me force it out of you baby, come on."

You won't do it. You won't betray Sam, you won't put him in danger. You won't give up the final bit of hope you have at getting Dean back.

"I'm not!" You cry out, finally falling still, abandoning your feeble attempts at fighting him off. He's too strong, impervious to pain and injury. You have no hope. Against him? You've always had no hope. "Dean please."

"Hey, hey, hey-" He softens a little bit, finally releasing your throat, caressing your face instead. The pads of his fingers dance over your lips and you close your eyes. "I already know most of the truth sweetheart, you're not gonna betray Sam, I just need to hear the rest of it. I need to know what you were planning in Nebraska."

"No-"

"Y/N, Crowley is not gonna lie to me, not about this. You know it already, so just tell me."

You open your eyes to his, blurry with your tears. "Dean I can't."

He smiles in your face. "Well you can't say I didn't give you a chance."

"You gonna torture me, huh?" You spit, angry and hurt. He grins while he ties you hands to the headboard with a length of rope. "Carve me up? Burn me? What's it gonna be Dean?"

"Aw don't you worry." He taps you on the nose. "I'm gonna get the truth out of you and then I have a witch who can heal you up all pretty again."

"I love you." You can't stop the tears leaking out, spilling over your cheeks. "Don't start acting like this."

Dean's face softens as he cups yours in both of his hands, using his thumbs to wipe off your tears. "I love you too. It'll all be over soon."

His grip instantly switches from a loving caress too tight and controlling, and he manoeuvres your head from side to side, looking over it with some kind of sick pride and excitement. He presses a quick kiss to your lips, before pushing off the bed to go rifling through his bags on the other side of the room.

"No." You sob, watching him pull a heavy blade hunting knife from one of the duffles, and setting it down next to him. "No, please."

Your begging falls on deaf ears while he admires the weapons he pulls from the bags, lining them up the mattress opposite you. You eventually give up, dropping your head back onto the pillows and closing your stinging eyes again.

Maybe he'll be gentle. Maybe you'll break easy and it won't be so bad. You know you owe it too Sam to try.

"Hey." Dean taps his open palm against your cheek and you open your eyes to the ceiling, refusing to look at him. "Look at me."

You set your jaw, pressing your lips together, rolling your eyes further upwards at the yellowed plaster on the roof. He scoffs, and you find the point of a massive fucking knife angled straight at your eyeball. You freeze.

"Look at me." He demands, and you slowly look over at him, at his face. He's going to rip you apart you think horribly. He knows you so well and he's going to get what he wants. You know you're still going go through it all anyway, because you have owed that to them, these brothers. You have always loved them until the end.

"There's those pretty eyes." He hums, while you stare him down. You don't blink, you don't cry, not anymore. The man you love is a demon.

The man you love has become evil.

And you know this is going to be another sacrifice you're going to have to make to save him.

He leans in, one hand grasping the back of your head, pressing little kisses up your jaw. You can feel the smile in his lips against your cold skin. He gives the fingers at the base of your skull a squeeze, swaying into your ear. "I want you to watch this. I want you to watch what happens when you care too much."

"It's worth it." You snap, your final moments of pig-headed toughness on display. You can already sense how excited he is to break it out of you.

He doesn't even bother to respond, wordlessly stripping your leggings off and tying your feet to the end of the bed as you lie there limply. Dean roughly pushes your jumper up, bearing your stomach to the cool air, until the fabric bunches up underneath your breasts.

He traces the tip of his finger across your navel, and your heart sinks at how it makes shivers crawl across your skin. He smiles to himself.

"Whadd'ya think of my name right here?"

"You carve your name on me and I'll cut your fucking dick off." You spit, squirming away from his devilish touch. He knew it'd get to you.

You watch him slide the knife he'd threatened your eye with out of his belt, running the blunt edge up the inside of your thigh, and you can't help how something deep inside your gut tightens.

It's worse. It's so much worse than Crowley or some demon torturing you. It's Dean, who knows you, and knows your body, who's had a claim to it before.

The metal edge glides up over your hip, sliding over the skin of your stomach. He's teasing you. He's enjoying every shake, every tremble, the way the blood drains out of your faces as he pulls the knife over the base of your ribs.

He's definitely enjoying this, you note, when his hips are almost at your head and your eyes involuntarily flick over to the outline pressing against his jeans.

He lifts the knife up off of you, and you inhale sharply, watching him twirl the blade in his hands before bringing the point to the hollow of your throat. You don't even dare to swallow. You can feel the sting as it presses into your skin, the feeling of blood beading under the pressure of the blade.

A warm drop of blood rolls down your neck and chest, leaving a ruby trail in the dip of your collarbones, and only then does Dean lift it off. He absentmindedly smears it across your skin, his pupils blown so wide that the green has been reduced to slivers. You suddenly feel anger, and surging rush of rage that ignites something underneath the fear, and the disappointment and the resignation.

"After this, I am going to find that fucking knife that Ben had and I'm going to do to you whatever you do to me." You hiss, straining against the ropes. Dean licks your blood off his fingers, before he turns his attention back to you, raising his eyebrows.

"I won't have to do anything if you just tell me the truth."

You don't dignify him with a response.

He shrugs, reaching for something behind him. "Okay then."

The first thing you see is the bit of fabric in his hand, but you don't even have time to scream before he's wedged your jaw open painfully, shoving it inside your mouth. You choke and splutter, your shouts muffled, before he seals a piece of tape over your lips. Every bit of frustration you pour into screaming only comes out soft and useless.

"Now normally, I would love to hear you scream, and all those pretty noises you make, baby, but we can't have some nosy little bitch interrupting us, can we?" Dean picks up the knife again and sidles his way from beside your head to your legs, which are raised with goosebumps.

The anticipation makes you feel faint. Dean's hand closes around your knee so gently, so lovingly it makes you want to vomit. He gives you a squeeze.

"I'm gonna give you some time to think about it, hey baby? I gotta take a piss. I think you'll sweat it out for a bit and start making smart decisions."

He's stupid for thinking that, you think faintly, you've never made smart decisions, and certainly not in the face of him. Running into the gym, running away from him in that wheat field, staying with him, not forcing Joey to leave when he could. You've always been stupid, he's always made you stupid.

You're stupid for knowing you'll love him after this, even though you're so scared.

He closes the bathroom door, and you're assaulted with the sight of Crowley standing at the foot of your bed. Your shriek is of course muffled, but he places his finger to his lips tauntingly anyway, rounding the bed to lean down next to your head.

"I see Dean's little fact-finding mission is going well?" His eyes follow the blood-smears on your neck. You narrow your eyes, hurling every bit of colourful language you can into the tape over your mouth.

"You wanna know a secret?" Crowley nudges you conspiratorially. "I already know what you're doing with Sam, and you know what? I'm gonna keep that little tidbit to myself until Dean has taken quite a few chunks out of you."

He disappears when Dean opens the door again.

"Are you ready to talk now?" He hums, wiping a stray tear off your cheek. You close your eyes, sagging in your restraints. You don't want to believe Crowley.

You don't want to be the reason Sam is in danger.

You also don't want Dean to cross a line he might not be able to come back from.

You know Sam would tell you in an instant to give him up, for your's and Dean's sakes. You know you shouldn't.

But Crowley's probably not lying and you might not be able to forgive Dean.

"Are you ready to talk?" Dean's voice is in your head.

You nod.

He's got a phone, after he ripped the gag off, dialling Sam's number. You glare over at him, crouching in front of you.

"Aw don't give me that look, baby." He pouts.

"You were going to torture me." You hiss.

"I didn't want to." He rests his elbows on the bed. "I knew I just needed put some pressure and you'd crack, you just needed to believe it."

"You liked it."

"Guilty." He breathes out with a sinful smile. "In fact, since you're being so cooperative, after we get Sammy sorted I think I'm going to enjoy you like this."

Every muscle in your body locks up when he reaches over to trail a firm hand over your bare thigh.

"I'd have let you torture me." You snap at him. "But Crowley popped in for a visit while you were taking a piss and told me that he knew anyway. He just wanted you to hurt me before he keyed you into the information."

Dean shakes his head. "Damn, here I was thinking I could just sweat you out with some psychological bullshit but you'd actually take it. Don't worry, I'll kill him after this for trying to get me to hurt you."

"Go to hell."

"I'll take you back with me." He grins, tapping something on the phone, which starts ringing. "Showtime."

"Dean?" Sam's desperate voice crackles over the line, you bite down on your lip, almost unable to get the words together. You do though, after a second passes.

"It's me." You whisper.

"Y/N?"

"I stole Dean's phone, I didn't have time to get out to a payphone. He cracked it at me for going off earlier today."

"Wha- are you okay? Why are you calling?"

"I'm fine. We're gonna be at 23 Compound Road in Box Butte the day after tomorrow at three, it's an abandoned warehouse that's the site of some deaths I made up for a fake ghost. It's our best shot, Sam, can you get there in time?"

"I made up a lot of time on the road today, if I drive all day tomorrow I should be able to make it."

"I'll take care of the devils trap and keeping him contained, just bring the blood and all the other shit. You know I'm gonna need backup the closer we get to curing him."

"I'll be there. Stay safe Y/N."

"Stay safe Sammy." Your voice cracks before Dean hangs up the phone.

"Poor Sammy." Dean shakes his head. "He's gonna get the shock of his life when he finds you're all trussed up instead of me."

"What are you going to do to him?"

"I'm not gonna kill him." Dean rolls his eyes. "And that's for you, by the way, because I don't want to see you all upset over him. I'm just gonna make him realise that I'm too far gone."

"I hope that doesn't involve torturing me." You narrow your eyes. "Because it seems to be shaping up to be your plan."

"Nah." He says with a little laugh. "I'm gonna torture some other innocent idiot, I'm just gonna make you watch it."

"Don't". You plead. "Let me talk to him, let me make him see reason."

Dean tuts at you. "I don't trust you that much, not after this little stunt."

"I will make him see that letting you go is the best solution right now, no one has to get hurt Dean, please."

"Well if you're gonna beg so nicely." His white teeth flash another appearance as his lidded eyes crawl up and down your body like a predator. "Maybe I can let you try."

"I'm not gonna fuck you after what you just did."

"Really? Because I know I wasn't imagining those little shakes back there, and I'd wager you were enjoying it."

You scoff, sending a pointed look at below his belt. "I think you're just projecting."

"Oh I did enjoy it." He leans forward so you can feel his breath fan out over your face. "And I know you well enough to know that a little part of you did too."

"You just almost tortured me so I can help you set up your brother, who I love, for god-knows-what. I'm not having sex with you, you fucking asshole, untie me."

Dean tilts his head a little to observe you. "I don't think so, you're all riled up, and we both know how you get when I haven't fucked all that fight out of you."

"Get me some goddamn pants and untie me." You spit, tugging against the ropes that bite into your wrists and ankles. You're like an animal trapped in the cage, ready to lunge the moment you get a hint of freedom. Dean just smirks.

"See, you're in no position to be making demands Y/N. I think you're smart enough to understand leverage and just how fucked you are." He leans in even further for the last three words, so they're hissed straight into your ear. You don't miss the insinuation, and neither does your body, your chest flushing warm, delightful electricity running down your spine.

"You're crumbling." He sings, dragging out the g. "You know you want it."

"Untie me." You grit out through clenched teeth, refusing it, him, how he makes you feel.

"Don't think about how fucked up it is." Dean rolls his eyes. "Think about how good I'll make you feel."

You can't give in, because what kind of person does this? What kind of person stays with something like who Dean is right now, who shares a bed with him, who has sex with him after he murders innocent people, after he sets his own brother up?

You're a hunter, so you've always been fucked up.

And you love Dean, so you've always been able to turn a blind eye to fucked up shit.

You could be a bad person, why else do you dedicate your whole life to saving people, trying to do something that matters? Maybe it's because you know you're never going to be able to stop who you are. Maybe it's because you know what you're capable of. Maybe it's because there is no other option to make up for your mistakes. Maybe because you don't want to face them.

You want to crumble. You want to hurt him.

Anger or defeat?

You've always had your choice.

That's why you've always, always picked the fight over him drinking rather than ignore it, always up in his face over his self-sabotaging bullshit rather than curling up and crying, always throwing fuel into the fire rather than just suffocating in the smoke.

Maybe it's made it worse, but it's made you feel better.

"Fuck you Dean."

At least he'll make you come so hard you'll forget most of it.