Part 2
I CAN'T HELP BUT FALL MORE IN LOVE WITH YOU EVERY SECOND OF THE DAY
BECAUSE IT'S SO HARD TO KEEP MY MIND OFF YOU
AND IT'S EVEN HARDER TO KEEP MY HEART FROM LOVING YOU.
"Oh. My. God," you say since full sentences seemed to have failed you.
You look down at your fake ID. And not just any fake ID. Not the kinds that you used for underaged drinking or driving.
The one that made you a federal agent. The one that could make you do anything.
You wipe away a fake tear as you look at the perfection. It was leather-bound and even had the cool badge that was stuck onto the ID. It was plastic, but still.
It held unimaginable POWER!
"Woah, Y/n, chill," Dean says with a chuckle when he notices you wiping a tear.
"Dean! You don't get it," you say. "With this," you put the badge up. "I can do anything."
Dean chuckles nervously at your newly developed obsession with your fake badge. "Uh, you can't do anything."
"Sure, I can," you shrug. "I'm the police," you say in a deep voice as you take your sunglasses out and wear them.
You nod with a chuckle and turn to Dean who was walking beside you. "What do you think?"
Dean looks at you with mild disgust. "Oh God. You're embarrassing me," he shakes his head as you chuckle. "You're indoors. Remove those glasses," he whisper-shouts as he looks around.
You take the glasses off and tuck them into your bag. "Gee, calm down."
Dean snorts slightly as he looks at you again. "You are such a clown sometimes."
"Oh, not a clown. Clowns are creepy."
"Seriously?" He raises his eyebrows.
"Yeah. People who find clowns funny are psychotic. I mean, have you read Stephen King's 'It'?"
"God, you and Sam are literally the same," Dean sighs.
You stiffen a bit at the mention of Sam's name but brush it off.
After you had made that little joke the previous day, you went back to the motel only to be greeted with the news that the painting was somehow back on its frame.
Sam then contacted Sarah as you and Dean tried figuring out how to stop the ghost. The ghost was a man named Isaiah Merchant who killed his family; his wife and children.
And since it had only six months since you started hunting things, you just say there and gave suggestions that, honestly, made no sense.
You guys then rushed to an old rich lady's house. Her name was Evelyn. Turns out she bought that ugly excuse of a painting. It was already dark and all the people who purchased the painting died within the first night of purchasing it.
When you guys reached there, Sarah arrived too and rushed into the house with the three of you.
Evelyn sat motionless on her chair, her white wispy hair becoming orange in the light coming from the fireplace. She was facing the opposite direction. Sarah touched the old woman's shoulder and the woman's head fell to the side. Detached from her body.
You already had a sick feeling in your stomach because of standing that close to Sam; not a bad one, more like a nervous sick feeling. And seeing the Nearly Headless Nick act made you gag. You would have expelled your dinner if you hadn't turned around and calmed down.
Sam, Dean, and you rushed out of the house while Sarah called the cops.
Sarah came back, demanding an explanation. Having no choice, the guys explained the whole monster hunting thing and then fetched you from your room.
And now, you guys were getting fake I.D.s to enter the house.
"But what if the cops find out that I have a fake I.D.?" You ask Dean, as worry laces your voice.
"You've got to act the part," Dean says as he stands up straighter. "Don't say bullshit. And you definitely can't do anything."
You follow his movements though you still look at him worriedly.
"What if my parents find out?" you ask as you look down, frowning. A wave of fear goes through you.
Dean remains quiet for a while before answering your question with another one. "Didn't you say that your parents knew our dad?"
You look up at him, a bit confused as to why he would bring that up now. "Yeah, they did."
"How would they know him?" He mutters.
"Your dad wasn't a hunter before, right?" You say. You had already asked yourself all these questions and had gotten answers for most of them. "Maybe they met before."
"How did they react when you mentioned him?"
You raise your eyebrow while biting your lip a bit. Your mind goes back to their hostile expressions.
"Pretty bad, " you say. That was an answer that you were unable to answer. Why did they react like that?
Dean frowns. "Dad does make enemies easily, " he says; you weren't sure if he was trying to convince you or himself.
To you, it seemed highly unlikely. It seemed that John only became distant and harsh after their mom's death.
You nod a bit.
You guys walk out of the building and you see Sam and Sarah sitting on the ledge outside, staring into each other's eyes. You falter in your steps when you notice them.
It hurt but at the same time, you felt happy. Happy that Sam had found someone he could love. Not you but that was the thing about love. You could never hate the person you loved, not really. Because there would always be that one part of you that loved Sam.
Oh, my god! Stop OVERTHINKING! They just met!
"Are we interrupting something?" Dean asks as he walks up to the two of them.
Both of them glance at the two of you; Sarah looked a bit embarrassed. They must have been in the middle of an important conversation.
~~
Sam's P.O.V.
Dean sat beside the younger Winchester in the Impala, driving to the cemetery in the Merchants' family's mausoleum was.
Sam smiles as he thinks how similar Y/n and Sarah were. They were sitting in the back seat talking about how crazy the fact that monsters existed was. Y/n was telling her stories of the cases they had tackled before.
That morning, Sarah had barged into the Winchester's room demanding an explanation and made a whole speech about how she would accompany them. Dean had said no when Sarah left the room.
"Why not?"
"Sarah's not Y/n, Sam."
"What- I never said that," Sam sputters. Had Dean talked to Y/n? Did she tell something to him? Sam thought against asking the questions.
When they went to get Y/n, Sam couldn't help staring at her. Everything about her was...perfect. He remembered how in college, a guy made fun of her appearance and how Sam wanted to knock that guy into next week. He remembered her calling him late at night that night, asking if that douche was right. He remembered reassuring the girl and listening to her sleepy answers and her eventual soft snores.
Now that Sam thought about it, Sarah and Y/n were similar. Except that Sarah didn't know everything about him, didn't understand him, and how she didn't have that charm that Y/n had; he didn't get the same feeling with Sarah that he got with her.
Sam stops smiling when he realized that he was. He was smiling because he was thinking of her. Of Y/n. He shrugs the feeling that settled in his gut, sets his jaw, and looks at the road.
~~
Y/n's P.O.V.
"Who doesn't have salt in their house?" Sam says on the phone. "Low sodium freaks."
After burning Isaiah Merchant's corpse with Dean, you guys had gone back to Evelyn's house to grab the painting, as a precaution. You guys were going to bury the sucker instead of leaving it out.
Sam and Sarah went into the house alone. You didn't join partly because Dean suggestively told Sam to take his chance with Sarah and also because is you went, you didn't want to see them flirting with each other. It would just be another small needle piercing your heart.
And now, the door had slammed behind them and they didn't close the door. Sam saw the spirit and it wasn't the man. It was their adopted daughter.
Your mind clicks as you think about it. The man in the painting was looking down at the daughter as if trying to warn you.
You swear when you realize Sam and Sarah were alone inside with no salt apparently.
"How do we waste her?" Dean asks, flicking his eyes between his phone he held in his hand that was on speaker and you. You desperately try not to hyperventilate.
"I don't know. She was cremated," Sam says.
"Then how is she still around?" Dean asks again, perplexed like you.
"There must be something else," Sam answers and you can hear the worry in his voice. He was trapped in a house with a killer ghost. Great.
If you didn't think of something, Sam could die.
That thought made you think back to everything and everywhere you guys went.
The mausoleum in the cemetery.
It held the ashes of the Merchant family except for Isaiah and a few of their prized possessions.
"The doll," you whisper uncertainly. The girl's possession was a doll. A creepy one, at that. Maybe she was anchored to the doll like how few spirits were anchored to their possessions.
Dean narrows his eyes a bit at what you say. "What?"
"The doll was her toy-"
"Dean, Sarah says that the doll might have the girl's hair," Sam says as he interrupts you. "Human remains. Same as bones."
You feel a of jealousy replacing your worry. Of course, Sarah knew.
You scold yourself mentally for thinking a petty thought like that and turn your attention back to the boys, ignoring the slight tugging of your heart.
"The mausoleum," the boys say together and you're too preoccupied to make fun of their chorused answer.
~
Dean and you run into the mausoleum. You step back as Dean takes his handgun out and hits the glass exhibiting the doll with the back of it.
Your mouth hangs open. "Dean!"
He turns back to look at you. "What?" He asks gruffly.
"Use the freakin' gun!" You exclaim.
"I am-" he pauses as he looks back down at the gun. "Oh."
He steps back, gestures for you to cover your face, and shoots the glass.
You wince slightly because of the loud sound, your ears ringing slightly. You ignore it and look at Dean clearing the rest of the glass on the wall with the handle of his gun.
He takes the creepy doll and his lighter out. The air was filled with a sort of urgency, an urgency to make sure that Sam and Sarah were safe.
When he clicks the lighter twice and the flame doesn't appear, you swear along with him.
You suddenly thrust your hand into your pants pocket and hand Dean your brother's lighter.
"Here, take it," you say quickly and Dean immediately snatches the lighter off your hand and lights the doll's matted hair on fire.
The smell of burning hair rises in the air as Dean hands the creepy doll to you which you stared at uncertainly, and removes his phone from his pocket, dialling Sam.
"Hey, Sammy, you fine?" Dean asks while you look at him, hoping that this nightmare was over.
You hear Sam say something and cut the call. Dean brings the phone down and then looks up at you.
"Not bad," he says as he hands your lighter back to you, looking at it with an eyebrow raised.
You shake your head as you pocket your lighter, a smile ghosting your lips, relief washing over you.
You drop the ugly doll on the floor, as it continues burning.
~~
You slide into the front seat of the Impala next to Dean, tensing slightly when you see Sam knock on the auction house door again after a second.
After a whirlwind of a few days, you guys were ready to leave the place.
The daughter was put up for adoption because her previous family had been found dead in their beds. She was the one who killed Isaiah Merchant's family for which he took the blame. It was messed up. Messed up that a small girl who must have been 10, managed to kill her whole family.
You brush the thought aside. You were so ready to stop hunting and get away from all things messed up. But you couldn't help thinking of how you loved the exhilaration and mystery that fuelled your body during a case and how your body welcomed those feelings.
And that would mean leaving Dean and Sam, the boys that had made quite an impact on you and your life. Of course, you would always be suspicious of what happened around you, wondering whether it was something supernatural.
But you couldn't bear thinking leaving the Winchesters. You were lucky that you weren't born into the life, lucky that you could leave whenever you wanted. But they couldn't.
It hurt to think of them as young boys, being taught how to load guns and how to kill someone, something.
You snap out of your reverie as Dean climbs into the Impala too, looking at you worriedly. You give him a tight-lipped smile and turn forward, your breath slightly hitching when you see Sam cupping Sarah's face and kissing her, first softly but then in hunger.
It hurt like a bitch. It did. Your heart was racing in your chest and your stomach had a void. You're the one who wasn't ready. The one who turned him down. You were a hypocrite to feel hurt.
"You know? It's funny," you say, desperately trying to get rid of the awkward silence in the Impala.
"What?" Dean asks as he looks at you.
You smile a bit. "It's been six months since I've joined you guys. Six months of being on the road and hunting monsters," you look at him. "And it feels so... ordinary, you know? Like saving people. Hunting things."
Dean raises his eyebrow at you. "The family business," he smirks.
"What?"
"Huh? Nothing."
You gaze into Dean's eyes and resume speaking after a pause. "I don't think hunters get enough appreciation."
Dean scoffs. "Amen to that."
"No, seriously," you say and turn in your seat to face him. "For all those people you saved, from all of them, thank you, " you pause and chuckle. "Hell, you saved me too. You know, not all heroes wear capes."
It always felt nice to know what people needed to hear at certain moments; though Dean didn't have to hear that now, it was long overdue.
Dean frowns. Happiness, worry, confusion, and sadness dominate his face.
Who had said that to him last? Who had admired him last except for Sammy?
It felt weird being praised by someone he had just met almost a year back.
The thought brought him to the topic of praises. Praises he never got. The only person he ever wanted praises, appreciation was from John.
From his dad.
"Thanks," Dean mumbles with a small smile as he looks back forward, his mind filled with worry and a bit of anger towards his father.
What mostly came to his mind was all the times he almost considered running away from John, all the times he could've just said no to the life of hunting. But he only stayed for Sammy.
Over the years, he learned to cope with his dad. There were greater needs than his and he knew it.
You bite your lip slightly when an awkward silence settles into the car.
"We're going to find your dad soon, Dean," you say with a small smile, reading his mind.
Dean gives you a half-smile and looks back at Sam walking back to the Impala with a grin on his face, hoping that you were right.
•
Five days ago
Minneapolis, Minnesota
Y/f/n walks to the living room with his phone in his hand. He had just hung up after talking to his daughter, Y/n who was, no doubt, hunting with Winchesters.
Winchesters, he repeats in his mind with a snare. He and his wife had tried so hard to take their daughter away from the life but she was dragged back in because of them. The Winchesters.
The worst part was that she didn't even know the whole truth and if she did, she never would've have followed them.
Y/f/n finds his wife on the couch, her body wracking with sobs as she hid her face in her hands.
He quietly goes and sits next to her, putting his arm around her so she could lean into him.
It was odd, knowing that their days were limited. Surely, they were limited before but they still had a couple of years left.
"I don't know what to do," Y/m/n slurred out, her voice hoarse because of crying.
"We do nothing," her husband mutters into her ear as she still hid her face.
"We should tell her everything now, before..." Another sob.
The man coaxes his wife. "We made our bed, honey. Now we must lay in it."
"We never should have done it, " she mutters and Y/f/n's eyes widen. "We never should've have made the de-"
"How can you say that?" He asks as he fights his tears.
"Because, Y/f/n," she pauses to pull back from his embrace and look at him coldly with her eyes watery, "when we're gone, she's going to blame herself."
[End of Episode 19 | Provenance]