Summary: You’re an ancient, powerful supernatural entity on the run with Dean as your bodyguard. Neither of you knows your identity or your purpose, but the pull between you is so strong that you can’t resist each other. When you begin to regain memories, you aren’t sure whose they are; and Dean begins to pull away. Meanwhile, Sam, Cas, and Rowena are on the case.

Pairing: Dean x You

Warnings: possible dub/con, supernatural bond, nsfw

SPOILERS FOR SEASONS 13 AND 14 LIE HEREIN

xox: @glassjacket @boondoctorwho @cracksinthewalls @naughtygirlsarebest@fatestemptress @adoptdontshoppets @pisces-cutie @dean-winchesters-bacon @maddiepants @supernatural-teamfreewillpage @tumbler-tidbits

---

The shower is running, and Dean’s phone is buzzing with a call as you tidy your motel room. Over the past 24-hours, you’ve become more aware of your feelings, of sensations – even if you’re still not entirely sure of the implications of your bond with Dean Winchester. Regardless, you want him desperately and completely, just as he wants you, and you wholly satisfy each other.

You glance at Dean’s phone when it buzzes for the sixth time in 10-minutes and see the caller ID reads “Sam” again. You’re instinctively protective of your time with Dean, even though you don’t know why, so you don’t interrupt him to tell him his brother is incessantly ringing his phone. You need to fulfill whatever the fates have decided your destiny with the hunter to be – to fulfill each other and to realize your fortunes.

Once you’d finally gotten through to Dean to let happen between the two of you what is the natural progression, Dean didn’t hold back. He’s still questioning the whys and hows of this connection, but you are determined to soothe his distress.

As you hear the water taps wrench to off, you snag Dean’s phone from the nightstand, automatically disable notifications, and stash the thing in a drawer. You can feel that you’re on the precipice of something important – surely nothing of grave concern, but momentous nonetheless – and you don’t need justification or proof because you can feel it in your soul.

When the door to the bathroom opens and steam rolls out, ushering Dean, wet and glistening, strong hips wrapped in the thin, cotton towel, you grin. “Feeling better, lover?” you ask, turning and wandering toward him, bared to his eyes head-to-toe.

Dean pulls a wry half-smile; his eyes are emerald fire and his jaw is tight as he rubs a smaller towel over his wet hair and the back of his neck. “Completely fucking confused, lover.” Dean shakes his head and drops the hand towel to the floor before reaching for your delicate wrist and pulling you in.

You roll your fingers over the makeshift waistband of his damp towel and push it to the floor. He’s hard again – or still, you really don’t know anymore – and sacred gods is he perfect. “You are-”

“Everything, perfect, the only one – I get it,” Dean interrupts then dips his head to kiss your lips, gripping your biceps just enough to maneuver you backward until the backs of your knees hit the bed. Then he pushes you to sit and snatches his flannel from the floor, wrapping your shoulders in the soft fabric. “Honey, we’ve fucked 27 ways to Sunday. It’s time to talk.”

---

“He’s still not answering,” Sam sighs in frustration. His brow is furrowed, and his jaw is tense, working tightly and rapidly as his worry grows.

Castiel crosses the room with a large tome balanced in the palm of his left hand. “We need to go to him, then, because she isn’t going to stop until she gets what she’s tasked to obtain.”

Sam nods fear clouding his frustrated gaze. “Cas, you’re sure?” Sam’s voice softens with the strain of hours of research and stress and anxiety. “Even Rowena believed Jilyxih was telling the truth – that she didn’t know where she was from and why she was here.”

Castiel nods once. “She was likely telling the truth, but…” He snaps the book shut and places it on the table next to Sam. “Now that we know who she is, there’s no question. Jilyxih is the mother of all succubi. I don’t know why she doesn’t remember, but her power is still great.”

“Someone’s tryin’ to mate them,” Rowena says as she enters the room. “With Michael’s abominations and Jack runnin’ ‘round, and…” She motions to her own plumped belly. “This.” Rowena closes her eyes with a distant look of longing, shudders, then returns her strengthened gaze to Castiel and Sam. “Someone’s tryin’ to create another new powerful race.”

“Ahh, yes,” Castiel says with a certain amount of inappropriate relief in his tone. When Sam gives him a chastising look, Castiel replies, “What? It makes sense. At least we know now what we’re dealing with.”

Sam heaves a heavy sigh and shakes his head, returning his exhausted gaze to the very pregnant Rowena. “Why Dean? And who’s doing this?”

Rowena looks at Sam like he’s the silliest of all children. “Samuel, Dean is very important to the structure of our universe.” She scoffs. “You both are. This isn’t new information.”

“Okay, but he’s only human-”

“So was Kelly Kline!” Rowena growls in frustration. “You boys aren’t ignorant to this world. Stop thinkin’ inside boxes! And we need to get to Dean now as we know that boy cannot think outside his own pants.”

“How do we find him?” Jack appears in the doorway, worry plain on his young face. He seems to have picked up traits from each of his surrogate parents, Sam’s furrowed brow being one of the most obvious. “Rowena’s right, we can’t waste any more time.”

Rowena sighs heavily and reaches for Jack’s hand. “How was your rest, wee one?” she asks, and Jack bows his head, nods noncommittally. “You aren’t comin’ with us if you aren’t feelin’ better.”

“Whoa – us?” Sam asks, standing and closing his laptop. “Rowena, you can’t think we’re taking you anywhere near Jilyxih at this point.” Rowena bristles at Sam’s tone and Cas rolls his eyes before turning his back to pace his frustration into the floorboards.

“Samuel,” Rowena’s own tone is clipped, and it makes Jack visibly cringe. “May I remind you that I am a centuries old and very powerful witch?” Sam deflates slightly and shakes his head, but she continues. “I have gone up against the devil himself – twice – and come back as strong as ever.” Rowena inhales deeply and glares down her nose at the hunter. “I am carrying the child of the archangel Gabriel. Do not tell me what I can and cannot do.”

Sam sighs and speaks softly and quietly. “Rowena, I know you’re carrying Gabe’s… child.” He pauses for impact, and Rowena’s flinch is infinitesimal. “Which is why we need to keep you off Jilyxih’s radar. We have no idea who’s behind her or the plans they have.”

Rowena narrows her eyes then turns to Jack with a smile. “Come, Jacky,” she chirps. “Let’s go find us a snack, hmm?” She shoots Sam and Cas a look before huffing and turning on her tiny, heeled boots to head to the kitchen.

Cas groans. “Sam, we need help,” he says, squaring his stance and holding Sam’s wavering gaze.

“I know, Cas, but until we see and talk to Dean, we don’t have any idea what we’re really up against with this.” Sam’s eyes are pleading. “We need to be smart, I agree – but we also need to be quiet.”

Cas sighs in agreement. “Okay.” He nods. “So, what’s the plan?”

---

“Dean, you’ve got to believe me,” you plead. “Everything I feel is honest and pure. I have no intention of hurting you.”

Dean nods slowly, lips pursed, cradling your hands in his. After getting you to agree to talk, he pulled his jeans on and sat in a rickety chair to face you.

“I believe you,” he says, and the warmth of his gaze relaxes you. Now that you’re talking and not acting, your head hurts a little bit. You feel an odd sense of being split through that you can’t grasp, and you could never even begin to explain to Dean.

Maybe you don’t have to explain anything to him.

“But someone’s messin’ with your memories,” Dean continues. “You say you remember everything…” He shakes his head. “But you’re just goin’ through the motions.”

You shake your own head, defiant, determined. “I’m not-”

Dean silences you by sitting straighter in his seat, bigger than you, his face harder than moments before. “You don’t know who you are, or why you’re really here.” You try to interject again but stop dead when your hands are compressed in his much larger ones, his head tilted, his eyes warning. “And don’t say we belong together, again.”

You’re quiet for a long time. You feel unfamiliar, small and weak. This isn’t what you’re accustomed to – you aren’t weak – but Dean makes you feel that way. Part of you thinks that’s the natural order of humanity – that he’s a man, he’s bigger and stronger than you are, and he’s meant to protect you. Part of you wants to scream and scratch…

You shake away your warring emotions and focus on Dean’s eyes.

“I remember how to love,” you say, quiet and calm and certain. “Isn’t that enough?”

Dean breathes and he’s just as quiet as you are for a moment. “I wish,” he says. “But you talk like you’re a million years old and act like you’re brand new – it doesn’t add up. More than that, it’s about 900 red flags of fucked up.”

You feel part of yourself accept that no matter how good it feels to just have him near you, inside you, on you, you’re missing… something. You wonder briefly if your human vessel is rationalizing and accepting Dean’s argument. Could it be that powerful?

And what’s the other part of you – really?

“Sweetheart,” Dean begins again, leaning forward, pulling you close. “We gotta call Sammy, circle the wagons.” He holds your regretful gaze. “We thought hidin’ you was the right thing, but…” He twists your fingers with his. “It’s just muddyin’ the waters.”

The way he looks at you – like he’ll never let you go, like he trusts you completely – makes your chest ache. It’s guilt you’re feeling, you think, and the fact sends your mind spinning. Guilt is a human emotion like shame and regret. Aren’t you more than human?

You sigh and drop your eyes to the floor. Arbitrarily assigned sides of right and wrong battle for your decision. You don’t want to look at Dean because the human side will surely win out. But your heart is just as traitorous as your vision.

“Sam called while you were in the shower,” you admit, turning your gaze up to meet his once again. “Your phone’s in the drawer.”

Dean sighs and closes his eyes, sits back, letting your hands slip through his. Your stomach drops, and you can’t breathe. He’s angry. You knew he would be, and you knew what the unpleasant physical repercussions would be. Soon you’ll feel your skin covered in a cold sweat.

“A’right,” he says, standing and crossing the room to the nightstand where you hid his phone.

You watch him, feeling thick, dark emotions wash over you. Is this how humans live with each other? Is this what motivates them – the desire to feel or not feel certain things? It’s all so crude.

Dean pulls the drawer open and grabs his phone. “Seven missed calls,” he says, turning a wilting gaze on you. “Beautiful.” He rolls his eyes to the ceiling and grips his phone tight at his side with a heavy sigh.

You truly hate it, though. You truly hate that he’s angry and disappointed in you. You know the anxiousness will pass, but you also know you’ve forever tainted your beloved connection with Dean Winchester.

“Dean, I’m sorry,” you apologize, and you mean it.

He turns to you and you just now noticed how tired and drawn he looks. “Just… get dressed,” he says before lifting his phone to his ear.

You nod and draw in a deep breath. “Okay,” you reply, but he isn’t listening anymore.

You stand and cross the room, readying yourself for what’s to come.

More to come…