Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

It was a weak case. 

Dean had gotten the call from another hunter in the area- something about some weird lookin’ symbols being painted on old warehouses, people going missing, and a new addition to the town, all in the span of the past 3 months. He and Sam had definitely done more off of less before, but Dean was exhausted from the case they had just finished. 

It had been a nest of vampires that put up more of a fight than they had anticipated. They dealt with it of course, but he had become too accustomed to hunting alongside Castiel. Ever since the three of them started hunting together, every demon, vampire, werewolf, or whatever monster chase was easier. He didn't know where Cas was now or what he was doing, probably some important angel mission , but Dean knew he couldn't call on Cas every time he wanted to see him.

But that's neither here nor there. He couldn't allow himself to be too dependent on the angel. Thinking about it made his own mind feel claustrophobic, so he focused on the new lead instead. 

When he started thinking about it, he realized that he didn't know the hunter all too well, a friend of a friend, that sort of thing. But Sam was up for it when Dean let him know about the call. 

“C’mon Dean,” he laughed “It's not like it's a far drive from here, and hey, if it makes you feel any better, I can drive so you can get some sleep.” 

It was patronizing, but it sounded like a fair enough plan. Even if it involved Sam driving.

“Don’t get your hopes up,” Dean yawned, stretching his arms above his head “We’ll head out tomorrow. But, you'll be out of your fucking mind if you wake me up before 9 in the morning.” 

He walked over and laid down on his crappy motel bed, dreading having to go through the motions again so soon.  It wasn’t that he didn't want to hunt- god forbid. He just… had a lot on his mind. Everything that had gone on in the Winchesters’ life was a heavy load to bear. He had literally gone to hell and back, he had saved his family, and now he had to worry about the fate of the whole world. Again, his thoughts drifted to Cas. If there was one thing he was grateful for out of everything he had faced, it would be meeting him. Of course, he thought Cas was a pompous asshole at first. Back then he was willing to put a mission above all else, but watching him start to think for himself, develop his own emotions and grow as a being made it too easy for Dean to gain an affinity for the angel.

Not that he was watching him. Or that he felt anything more than kinship with Cas.

Point being, another hunt could clear his mind and give him something to do other than sit and think, because doing that right now just made him dizzy for a reason Dean didn't want to delve into just yet ( or ever, actually ). He could blame his exhaustion on the routine of having to ask around, bug witnesses, and investigate. It already was too damn tiring to even think about. 

He fell into a heavy sleep shortly after getting comfortable under the covers.

*****

He woke with a start, sitting up in bed and ready to jump into action. 

The action, apparently, being Sam brushing his teeth after a shower.

Sam poked his head out of the bathroom, having heard his brother moving around so suddenly. 

“Good morning to you too Dean,” he said sarcastically, toothbrush in hand and excess toothpaste on his chin. “Surprised to see you up and attem this early, ‘specially after yesterday.”

Dean threw the blankets off himself, moving to sit at the edge of the mattress. He glanced at the alarm clock on their shared bedside table. It was 8:40 AM, but Dean wasn't tired. In fact, it was the best he had slept in a while, not plagued by a lingering nightmare or damp in a cold sweat. 

“Ha-ha,” Dean started, stretching his limbs before he got up to collect his clothes for the day. “I'm just as surprised as you are. Expected to sleep till noon.” 

“We should get some breakfast before we head out, yeah?” Sam asked, going back into the bathroom, voice muffled by the sound of a faucet turning on. “5 hours is shorter than most of our drives, but it's still a while to go.” 

Getting back into bed suddenly seemed much more tempting than it had before.

*****

“So, what? He told you there was-” Sam scanned through the quick notes Dean had taken on the motel-provided sheet, “‘some witchy looking signs’ on unused warehouses, two men missing from the same town in the span of three months... going on three if they were to follow a pattern…” he mumbled, squinting at the paper, “and ‘an odd-looking broad’ who moved in a couple of streets over; just before the events started happening.” He put the paper down and looked through the windshield “kind of spells out witch, don't you think?”

“Seems pretty straightforward to me,” Dean responded, not looking away from the road. “So what's the plan? Show up at the house, stake out 'til she lures in some other poor son of a bitch, and take her out before she can do whatever magic on ‘em?” 

“Routine job like always I guess, just without the usual formalities,” Sam replied. “It’ll be nice not having to talk to the locals for once”. He glanced at Dean, “what do you think she wants with them anyways?”

“Don't know, don’t care.” Dean switched lanes, looking at his rearview mirror. “Probably some demon deal or glamor ritual. Witches do that kind of thing, right?”

Sam huffed out a laugh “yeah Dean, in The Craft.”

“Hey, I don't see you coming up with another reason,” Dean shifted in his seat, getting stiff from being in one spot for too long “Hold on, you actually watched that movie? Never took you for much of a teen flick guy.” 

“Whatever," Sam smiled, “just keep driving.”

It was a while before either of them said anything, but Sam was the one who broke the comfortable silence.

“Do you think we should call Cas?”

“No.”

Sam sighed, casting a sidelong look at his brother “Why not? It's been like two weeks since we spoke to him. We don't know what we're getting ourselves into, and he could be good backup-”

“We are not bugging Cas for some run of the mill witch case, we got this. Plus I don't want to go,” Dean waved his hand around, gesturing vaguely “bugging him when he could be on some great holy mission”. It was mostly true, but Dean was still sore from yesterday, more mentally than physically. Not fighting with Cas meant that he could be independent, even though Dean knew that working alongside each other was like fighting as one. But Sam doesn't need to know all of that.

*****

It was almost midnight by the time they pulled up to the assumed witch's neighborhood. They parked across the street and a few houses down from the mark, an unsuspecting location, but with a clear enough view to see if anything were to go down. 

Dean sat back in his seat, letting down his guard as much as the situation could allow. “Might as well get comfortable Sammy, it's gonna be a long night.”

Sam hummed in response “Not too comfortable, we don't even know how powerful the witch could be- if it even is one”. He looked up and down the road as if expecting to be ambushed at a moment's notice. 

“Powerful enough to need a second location,” Dean mumbled. “Let me know if you see anything, I'm gonna close my eyes for a little bit”. He smiled, happy to stick Sam with the first shift during overnight stakeouts.

Dean rolled down the rear windows an inch or so, wanting to let in some fresh air.

Suddenly, there was a soft thud on the leather of the back seat. 

Sam was the first to respond, whipping his head around to look out the back window. “Did you hear that?” he asked, anxiously scanning the street. 

“Can't say I didn't” Dean said, peeking through squinted eyes. “What do you think it was?” 

“I don’t know,” Sam said, his eyebrows furrowed. 

He sneezed. 

Dean coughed. He began coughing harder, gradually until he was having trouble breathing. 

Too late, Sam began scanning the backseat. Sure enough, a hex bag lay in between the driver’s side seat and the floor. The spell was already in effect, however, and out of reach to either of the brothers, even if they tried to grab it. 

Both Sam and Dean began to lose consciousness, and the last thing Dean heard before passing out was the back door opening. 

Chapter Text

When Dean woke up, the first thing he noticed was the killer headache he had. Unsurprisingly, the next thing he found was the restraints on his wrists. After having been on the business end of a particularly gnarly hex bag he couldn't open his eyes yet. Even with his eyes closed however, he could tell that the room was bright, the light passing through his eyelids. After a moment or so, he was able to open his eyes, and what he was met with was a lot to process.

To start with, not only were his hands restrained, but his ankles were as well. What was even more shocking was how they were held. He was sitting in a bright pink chair, with a square back and armrests on either side. They had clamps holding his hands down, and matching ones on the legs of the chair, holding both his feet firmly in place. 

Looking around, the room was weird too. It was more like a TV filming studio than anything. Everything on what he presumed to be the stage was decorated with a pink or yellow tint, from the chair he was in, to the desk on his right, and the partition on his left. 

The next thing he noticed was the scent of the place. It wasn't off-putting, but given his situation, he was suspicious of its origin. It was like an artificial lemon from cleaning supplies, mixed with a flower he couldn't name. 

Before his mind could wander further, one thing became glaringly apparent: he and Sam had been separated. 

All of this taken into account in the few minutes of his regained consciousness, he strained as much as he could at his cuffs. “What the hell is this?” he murmured, it was a hoarse whisper, his throat still recovering. 

“You're finally awake! I wouldn't get so worked up if I were you though, we haven't even started yet!”

A woman's voice came from his left, shrill and laced with a faux sweetness; What he could assume belonged to the witch they were sent to hunt. 

“I don’t give a fuck about whatever you want to get started on,” he coughed, trying again at his holds, straining to see beyond the wall.

He heard footsteps come closer, and a woman walked out, smiling as she saw Dean struggle to fight back. 

She was of average height and dressed like a game show host from the ’90s. Her blazer and skirt were pink, and quite frankly, she looked like a cracked out Barbie, stiff blonde hair to match.

“Where's my brother.” Dean started, looking up at her from his chair. 

“Dean,” said the witch, “ever the spoilsport, why not try to calm down before you pick a fight?”

“Where’s my brother, you bitch” he tried again,  his voice stronger this time.

“Oh the profanity,” she said in mock-offense “He's right there, safe and sound, so there's no need for the rude words”

As she moved aside to show him, a spotlight flicked on to reveal Sam sitting where an audience would’ve been. He was still knocked out, chin to his chest, and in a chair that resembled Dean’s own. 

“Now that you see he’s alive and well, are you ready to be nice?” her tone was flippant, focused on something other than the two hunters in her capture.

Dean's gaze shifted back at the lady and he huffed out a sardonic laugh. “You knock me and my brother out, take us to some freak show TV set, and have us tied down in matching Barbie dream house chairs. I don’t think I’m ready to be ‘ nice ’ anytime soon, sweetheart.” he grinned at her, trying to keep up an air of confidence.

She made her way to her desk and leaned onto its surface, giving Dean an unentertained stare. “For one thing, It’s ‘my brother and I’.  Secondly, if it's any consolation, this isn't a coincidence. Rather, I think it's an opportunity,” she turned around and went to sit in the chair behind her desk, lacing her fingers together, pink acrylics clacking as she did so. “For the both of us.”

Dean looked at his lap and considered his options. The witch looked to be on the (physically) weaker side, but he didn’t know how powerful she was, and he wasn't willing to risk getting captured again. 

That was if he could break his holds. Despite how cartoony they looked, they were strong as shit and etched with sigils; he wouldn't be able to break them with brute force alone.  He tried to mark all his exits, but with the partition blocking his view of the rest of the stage, he could only count two: two doors down in the audience, on the farthest wall from where he sat. 

“I can’t make out what you’re thinking, but it’s very loud.” She inspected her fingernails without much interest, “Like, I can feel the cogs turning in your head.”

Dean cleared his throat. “You know for all your hospitality,” he nodded at his wrists “you still haven’t told me your name.” 

“Oh,” this had caught her attention like it had actually slipped her mind. “That was rather rude of me wasn't it? It's Vera.”

“So Vera, tell me about this master plan of yours. You want information? Vengeance? I kill some girlfriend of yours once upon a time and you want payback?” Dean knew he shouldn't poke an angry bear, but his act of bravado could get some much-needed intel from her.

She rapped her knuckles on the table before standing up once more, looking out to an empty audience pit. Sam was starting to wake up, raising his head to look at the stage. 

“No actually,” she turned to face Dean “Do you know what I did to those men who went missing?”

“Make ‘em into man stew?” He had to keep her talking. It was clear that she was more interested in Dean than Sam, but he couldn't give her the chance to use his brother against him.

“I didn’t mean to kill them, not really.” She shook her head and reached inside her blazer pocket, pulling out a small black bag. It was embroidered with a pink thread, and Dean didn't have to take a closer look to know that it was yet another hex bag. She brought it up to her own eye level to inspect it. “I just asked them a few questions, under the influence of course, but the truth was much more than either of them could bear. Naturally, I did the kind thing and put them out of their misery.” She tossed the bag in the air with one hand and caught it with the other. “When I said I could feel you thinking, I meant it you know. I can sense the way your mind is moving. Your anger, your fear, your confusion, your…”  she waved at him with a hand and a disgruntled expression “inner turmoil... I can feel it, but the details of it are unclear. Not knowing really eats me up inside.”

Shit . This struck Dean with surprise. There were a lot of things he kept close to his chest, and the thought of some random bitch being able to sense this had caught him off guard. Does she know about Cas? What about Cas? His feelings to what extent? He was still on a job, and therefore couldn’t let himself be blindsided for long. “You're an every day Mother Teresa,” he said with bitter sarcasm in his voice. “So what, you want to trade secrets and braid each other's hair? Not gonna work for me V, I'm more of a twister guy.”

“But you see,” Vera continued, a mischievous glint in her eye “this brings us back to what I was saying. This is an opportunity, a two-way street, a win for both of us. You keep your thoughts and feelings so locked up and guarded, you barely process them yourself. This is your chance, Dean Winchester. You sort out your feelings, and I get to revel in them.”

“What's the deal with The Dating Game up here then? Odd look for a witch, performing for a party of one.” It was a genuine question, but he was still caught up on the whole mind-reading thing. How much does she fucking know? How much will she know? Will Sam know? What would he think? This fucking sucks, we should’ve never come in the first place.

“That's just a bit of fun, you of all people should know how romantically congested you are, Dean” 

Shit. 

“And you know, if it's too lonely in here for you-” she faced the audience, who had just appeared. They shimmered into existence, surrounding Sam. “we could always invite more to the party.”

“Dean?” Sam's wide eyes met his own, having heard the conversation and confused by the sudden appearance of a cheering crowd. 

“LADIES AND GENTLEMEN!” Vera greeted her audience, her voice booming through the room, waving with both hands and pacing the stage in front of Dean. “Thank you for being here tonight! Boy, do we have a show for you. Before you is THE Boy Wonder himself, demon slayer, monster hunter and chosen of the Big Guy himself, Dean Winchester !”

Thunderous applause filled the room, cheers and shouting from the crowd making its way into fanatical chanting. 

“Let's get started!” she made her way behind his seat, and extracted the small black pouch once more, placing it in Dean's shirt pocket. 

“ DEAN ” Sam called again, panicked at watching his brother slip under the spell Vera had placed. He himself was helpless to do anything but watch, the chair unforgiving and holding him in place.

Chapter Text

It was like he was drunk. 

Not the kind of drunk where he was sad or angry, but the kind where it felt like his body was light and warm, and all he wanted to do was laugh. In the back of his mind, he knew something was wrong, that he wasn't in control of his own body or mind. But... it didn’t seem like that big of a deal. Besides, it was the happiest he’d been in months- he wasn't very keen to get rid of it so soon.

“How do you feel, Dean?” Vera’s voice was loud and clear to Dean, but everything else was muddled- like his head was underwater. There was less to focus on, and that was fine by him.

He laughed heartily and carefree, slurring his words together. “Like a million bucks darlin’.”

“Good, very good.” Vera walked back to her own chair, pulling cue cards from an unseen drawer of her desk. “There are so many things I could ask you about, Dean. I could ask about your parents, hunting, Hell, your brother.” she shrugged and straightened her cards, tapping them against her desk, “But all those things are so… trauma-ridden it wouldn't be any fun for me to ask about, much less listen to. Don't know how you get up in the morning honestly.” she added.

He heard his brother call out to him again, struggling and voice distant. There was definitely something fishy going on, he did know that. The thing is, for some reason he still could not give a rats ass about anything at all. It wasn't malice or anything with rude intention, he just… didn't care, rather, he simply couldn't care.

“ ‘s all ‘n a days work,” Dean responded to the best of his ability. His mouth felt slow and sluggish as if he was moving in slow motion. “Sucks sometimes, you know,” he shrugged “but it is what it is. Can't shake it.” He was saying things he didn't want to admit, he realized, but he couldn't keep the truth from falling out of his mouth. 

Vera nodded, a faux sympathetic look on her face “Mmm, I'm sure it is Dean. But I want to talk about something that cuts a little closer to home. I have a personal stake in it too you see.” She leaned on her elbows, getting closer to Dean. “You're a good looking man, we all can see that,” the audience cheered in agreement, “but what do you want, Winchester?” She squinted at him, moving even closer, “What gets Dean Winchester going?”

 It was a weird question, even in his inebriated state it surprised him. What gets Dean Winchester going? It rang in his head like a bell, repeating. Under the witch’s s pell, it was the most interesting thing he had ever heard. 

And so, he opened his mouth to answer. 

“I've thought about that a lot you know, ‘specially recently.” Dean paused to think. “But to start, I'd like someone with a mind like a diamond . Someone who really knows what’s best. They’d need to wear shoes good enough to hunt in- and their eyes would burn like lit cigarettes.” he said, in a dreamily dazed tone.

“Sounds like you're describing your very own dream girl Dean,” Vera added, interested in every word of his drunken confession.

“They’d have connections in the huntin’ field, and have the right allocations; they’d be fast, thorough, and sharp as a tack” Dean furrowed his eyebrows, deep in thought when envisioning the perfect subject of his attraction. “They would probably have funny habits, like fidgeting with jewelry or messing with their own hair. On hunts they would help when touring the location,” he splayed his fingers where they were restrained, emphasizing his words “and pick up the slack when either Sam or I screw the pooch in a fight.”

Vera nodded, encouraging him to answer further, both hands interlocked underneath her nose. 

His mind yelled at him to stop before he went too far; before he revealed too much. It was like word vomit, and he couldn't stop even if he tried. The words were pulled from him, and he could do nothing to resist.

“I’d like somebody in a short skirt,” he snickered before continuing “and a loooong jacket.”

He smirked to himself at his own answer, dopey with the mental image of his Castiel wearing a skirt. The room had fallen into a foreboding silence. For about 30 seconds, not a word was said, from either him, Vera, or the audience. 

“Oh… that’s...” Vera said, disgust in her voice, with her nose wrinkled and affronted at the sudden revelation. “An unexpected turn.” she was disappointed, and her voice reflected such. What Dean did not know was that on the other side of the wall, there was a (previously) ambiguous figure, trying to take the shape of what he was describing. With the new information Dean had just shared, the hazy form now resembled Castiel as Dean saw him, eyes burning blue with raw power, angel blade in hand, and of course, with that damned tan trenchcoat.

Despite that same part of his brain crying out in embarrassed anguish, he still trudged on, describing Cas in his own romanticized way, now that the cat was out of the bag.

“I want a guy who gets up early, I want the guy who stays up late,” his smile grew as he remembered all the times he woke in the middle of the night, a night terror he experienced fading from his mind and his heart racing relentlessly, and how Cas had always miraculously been there to help him down, in the dead of night or otherwise.

“I want a guy with uninterrupted prosperity, who uses a blade to cut through red tape,” the memory of Cas rebelling fresh in his mind, how he fought against his orders, his very programming for Dean, with a show of power that made Dean weak at the knees. He chuckled at what he was about to say next, fully aware of how sappy he sounded “With fingernails that shine like justice, and a voice that's dark like tinted glass.” he rolled his head to look at Vera, her face still as surprised as it had been before. 

“He's touring the facilities, and picking up slack” he faces the stunned audience again, laughter picking up in his voice as he continues. “I want a girl with a short skirt, and a long loong -”

BANG BANG

Two gunshots rang out to Dean’s right. Instantly it felt like someone had just decked him in the chest; his mind suddenly rid of the fog clouding his judgment. He looked over to Vera again, or at least where she would’ve been.

She was doubled over, blood spilling from her shoulder and her chest into her lap and desk. She fell out of her chair with a slump, life leaving her body. At the same time, the braces on Dean’s arms and legs unfastened, the runes burning up in bright yellow light. With the witch dead, all of her spells and enchantments were then nullified, Dean pulled from his stupor, the audience vanishing with the same glimmer they were brought in with, and the manifestation to his left disappearing as well.

Sam stood behind her, out of breath and gun in hand.  “Sorry it took so long” he panted, lowering the gun and eyeing the witch with a skeptical look.

“No problem,” Dean replied, shocked and recovering yet again from the latest spell. He pulled the hex bag out of his pocket and put it on the desk next to him before he let out a low sigh. He remembered every word of what he'd exposed but didn’t know how much of it Sam had heard, nonetheless seen . “How’d you get out anyway, you were in the same type of chair I was,” Dean asked, rubbing at his wrists. 

“Luckily, we had some back up come in,” Sam said smugly, moving aside while  he shoved the gun into the back of his belt. 

Behind him was Castiel, the real Cas, not the configuration that the witch had made. 

“Hello Dean,” he said, voice as gravelly as it always has been, still in the same get-up he always wears, and of course, that same goddamn coat.

“Son of a bitch .” Even with his mind his own again, Dean still couldn't help saying the swear out loud. 

*****

When they had made it outside the building, the brothers realized that the witch had brought them to the warehouse described by the hunter over the phone. 

It appeared that along with Cas, the Impala was brought to the location too, where it sat vacant in the empty parking lot.

“How in the hell-?” Dean started as he made his way to his car. 

“When I arrived I figured I would bring the car with me,” Castiel answered, cutting Dean off before he could finish his sentence, “I assumed it would be easiest to have it here rather than in the neighborhood where it was left.”

Dean turned around to face the angel. “Woah, thanks Cas. Nice call… you saved us one hell of a walk.”

“Speaking of saved,” Sam chimed in, “How did you know we needed your help, or even where we were?”

“I sensed Dean praying to me,” Cas answered honestly.

“Praying?” Dean asked, confusion growing the longer he considered the response. “No offense, but I don't think I was in the right mind to be praying to anything, Cas.”

“It was more like…” Castiel considered his next words carefully. “Focused thinking. While you may not have been formally praying to me, I could sense that you were having strong thoughts in my regard, so I came over to investigate. I am glad that I did.”

Sam stifled a laugh while Dean fought the blush on his face. He thanked his lucky stars that it was still dark outside.

“Well, it's damn good that you did.” Dean said, walking around to the driver’s side of the Impala, trying to regain his composure, “I don't want to know what would have happened if you didn’t come in to save the day.”

“If I may ask,” Castiel began. “If you knew you were going in to fight such a formidable foe, why didn't you contact me in the first place? I would have been more than willing to help.”

Sam responded before Dean was given the chance. “We didn't want to interfere with any ‘great holy mission’ you might have been on with a measly witch case.” Dean cringed at his words being used against him.

“It is… quite the opposite” Castiel looked away from the brothers, much like he was too shy to look at the two while he said so. “I do enjoy the hunts we go on together and would like to go on them whenever possible. It is nice to hear from you when I can.” while this answer was in response to Sam’s query, Cas’ eyes met Dean’s when he said the last sentence.

There was a beat of silence, a pause in the conversation. Sam coughed, wanting to relieve the tension that had appeared between his brother and the angel. “Well, we’ll have to keep that in mind.”

Dean was the first to look away, much like he always is. “Uh, thanks again for the save Cas,” Dean said, looking at the driver's seat of his car. It was embarrassing to have this conversation in front of his brother, even though nothing particularly scandalous was said.

Castiel cocked his head to the side with an unfocused stare for a second, before he looked at the ground dejectedly. It wasn't long, but when he looked back at the pair he informed them of what he had heard. “It appears I am needed elsewhere… I am sorry I cannot stay longer.”

“No biggie,” Dean said quickly, “angel business and all that. We get it.” Both Dean and Sam went to open their respective car doors. 

“I mean it truly, the next time you are in need, do not be afraid to contact me,” Castiel said this to Dean before he sat in the car, but when he looked back to respond, the angel was gone with the wind, leaving the sound of wings flapping in his wake. 

“So much for that,” Dean said, sitting down in his seat before he closed the door behind him. Sam followed suit on his side before wondering out loud:

“Should you be driving? You were in pretty deep under that hex bag”

Dean shifted gears and drove out of the lot. “I’m fine Sammy, ding dong the witch is dead and my brain is back to being my own.”

“Alright,” Sam relented, but before the moment was over, he added in “So… long jackets huh?” He couldn't stop the shit-eating grin that spread across his face. 

Dean flushed again and almost slammed the brakes. “Not another fucking word,” he said quickly, looking at Sam while driving and pointing a finger in his face. He looked back to the road and started making his way back to the motel they had rented before the (failed) stakeout. “Low blow Sammy, low blow.”