Dark Tendencies: A Female Reader x Dean Winchester Fic

26

Y/N's POV

It had been weeks since Sam and Dean left.

I couldn't tell you the exact number of days...because after week three, I lost count...and I nearly lost my mind along with it. All I knew for sure was it was well beyond a month since I'd watched that pretty Chevy drive away from me.

Dean had kept in touch here and there...but it was agonizingly cryptic. He had yet to tell me where in the world he was... nor what they were up against. It was more often than not just a quick text to tell me they were still alive.

At first... I stayed at the bunker, in case they called for backup or they miraculously returned home. But after a week or two...the solitude drove me absolutely mad.

I was furious with myself. For many years, I was so used to being on my own, traveling the long lonely roads...and I was content with it. It made me the strong hunter I am, and it made things easy...so uncomplicated.

Now...I was utterly and undeniably dependent on Dean Winchester.

Not only was he the one that controlled me, which I had become very accustomed to...he was my vice, my crutch...my drug.

His smile was my sunlight, and his forest-green irises were my stars. His arms were my blankets on a cold night, and the sound of his heart beating against my ear when he held me was the sweetest lullaby. His soft, affirming whispers were my energy-boost... and his dominant, fierce commands were my kryptonite. His kiss was my whiskey...and his touch was my heroin.

I was in way too deep. And without him here for so long...I felt helpless. I felt like I was up Shits Creek without a paddle...or a damn boat.

Every move and decision I made, I made for him. Which was agreed upon when he told me what exactly he wanted from me.

However, despite all of that...he still left...without any form of explanation...and his last few words to me left me so infuriated I could barely think.

So after I realized the emptiness of the bunker was only going to make me spiral farther, I decided it was time to remind myself what it felt like to march to the beat of my own drum.

I had been gone from the bunker for a while, getting back on the road and hopping crappy motel rooms just the way I always did. My rage fueled a few good hunts...and damn, did it feel good to get my groove back. And the icing on the cake?...I never told Dean about any of them. My rebelliousness was very liberating...although, I couldn't shake the slight guilt I felt, given Dean practically had me hardwired with obedience now.

Nevertheless...albeit sorta morbid and gruesome...I took trophies from each of my successful kills. That's never something I imagined doing...I was more the 'gank and get out' kind of hunter. But I wanted to use them to prove a point to Dean: his lack of confidence in me as a hunter, as he so clearly expressed, was sorely misplaced.

I carried a small bag with me from hunt to hunt...and it was now full of vamp fangs, werewolf claws, wraith spikes, and other various monster parts. The bag had some weight to it now...evidence that I was on a monster-killing spree...spurred on by anger and heartache. And I eagerly awaited the moment I'd be able to drop the bag at his feet; the ultimate competition win.

Presently, I was finishing up in the shower at a motel somewhere in the middle of Nebraska, rinsing off the remnants of a ghoul I had just taken down. I turned off the water, letting out a satisfied sigh as I stepped out and grabbed a towel to wrap around myself.

I opened the bathroom door, fully preparing myself to get some much-needed rest...until I was startled by a figure sitting on the bed, who just so happened to be wearing that same trench coat that I had grown a little resentment towards.