A New Life (Dean Winchester X Demon Reader)

Time to Talk

That night turned out to be one of the longest nights of your life. Sure, Sam had left the door open, leaving you with a hint of light. That sliver of light had kept away another panic attack. But instead, your mind had been given plenty of time to think of everything that could go wrong, and you quickly found out your imagination was quite strong.

You hoped that the meeting with Sam had helped your cause. If even just a little bit. Getting him to see that you weren't like other Demons. Maybe throwing him enough of a bone to turn those big wheels in his head, getting that intelligent brain thinking outside the box. Sam was your main hope. You kenw Dean was hurting, and his emotions would cloud his mind, making him shut everyone out, letting his feelings override his common sense. Which was extremely scary.

Moving your shoulders, trying to relax some of the knots in your muscles from hours spent sitting in the same spot, unable to even move your hand to scratch your nose. It was torture, you were used to being up, moving around, only sitting to read a book or enjoy a meal.

It was then you heard voices echoing down the hall, sounding closer with each step that accompanied them. Both voices were deep, the words mumbled, incoherent from the echoing of the hallway. You sat there patiently, it wasn't like you could do anything else and waited for the Winchesters to join you.

It was only seconds later that Dean's heavy brown work boots came stomping through the door, his face already a mask of indifference,  as he stormed right towards you, stopping with his arms folded. A part of you was grateful to see him. You wanted to reach up and hug him, but you knew you couldn't. It was a cruel form of punishment, much worse than being forced to sit in this chair for hours. 

Sam had followed quickly behind, not trusting his brother alone with you. He stood next to Dean, his hands thrust in the pockets of his dark jeans, his shirt another one of his plaids, this one brown and green. His hair looked like fingers had been continuous run through it, his eyes tired. Maybe, you hoped, he had stayed up most of the night thinking about your predicament.

"So I heard you played my brother last night. Made him feel sorry for you," Dean spat, his eyes narrowing in barely concealed distrust and something close to hatred.

"No, I would never do that to Sam!" You squealed, hating the fact that someone you had been so close to would think that of you.

Sam placed his hand on Dean's shoulder, trying to reason with him. "Dean we don't know anything for certain."

Dean shrugged Sam's hands off, before stepping forward, into the trap with you. Your heart started beating faster, your palms turning sweaty as he came closer, his eyes portraying that of a predator, scaring the crap out of you. He stopped right in front of you, placing one hand on each arm rest, next to your hands, getting right in your face.

"I used to love you. But then you lied to me, and Sam. You used me, and for that, I will never trust you again. Never," Dean whispered menacingly, his green eyes growing darker with emotion.

You tried again to state your case, "Dean I promise, my love for you was never fake! I..."

Before you could say any more, Dean, with almost superhuman speed, reached out with one hand, and wrapped it around your neck, squeezing tightly. You tried to fight, but your thrashing about seemed to enrage him more, because he brought his other hand up, and in it was the Demon-killing knife.

Once he let go of your neck, you took in deep, gasping breaths that soon evaporated when he placed the knife where his hand had been, pressing it so close that you felt it prick your skin.

"Dean," Sam started, from behind him, out of your view. Your view was completely full of a heaving, grey-clad chest. Dean ignored his brother, using his other hand to grasp your hair, tilting it back painfully, giving the knife better access to your neck.

"Give me a good reason I shouldn't shove this into your neck right now," Dean threatened.

Gulping, you felt the blade slide a little across your neck, drawing blood and you answered. "Because you still love me, and somewhere in there you might think that there is something different with me. That maybe I'm not like the rest of the Demons."

Closing your eyes, you waited for the pain of the knife slicing your neck open, but when it didn't come, you squinted one eye open, noticing that Dean stood there stunned, the knife almost forgotten in his hand. He hadn't been expecting that answer, and it had confused him, and probably brought out feelings he had been trying so hard to bury deep.

Sam took that as his opportunity, stepping forward until he was beside his brother, gently placing his hand on Dean's knife-wielding arm, trying to get him to remove it from your neck.

Shaking out of it, Dean jerked his arm from Sam, before pushing him out of the trap. "No, you don't get to play me like that." He growled at you, before raising his arm and bringing the knife down. Flinching, you waited for the pain to come, hoping your death would be quick and somewhat painless, and that with your death Dean could overcome his feelings of betrayal.