As soon as you woke up, your magic healed your aching headache, but the same thing couldn't happen for Dean, unfortunately. The amount of magic you placed inside their body was only good enough to break them from the siren's spell. Dean was laying on the motel bed while you held an ice pack to his head.
"It's not fair," Dean groaned.
"What's not?"
"Your magic healed you of the pain. I'm stuck like this."
"I can give you some more. Just enough to make it go away," you offered. Before Dean could answer, the door opened and Sam walked in with a small notebook in hand.
"How you doing?"
"I'm in pain, that's how I'm doing. I think I have a concussion."
"You want some aspirin?"
"No thanks, House," Dean said as he sat up. Removing the icepack, you lightly rubbed his shoulders as a way to comfort him. "So, demons, huh?"
"Yeah. So much for miracles," you scoffed.
"What the hell happened with Alastair?" Dean asked.
"He tried to fling me or whatever and it didn't work, so he bailed."
"Well, how come he couldn't fling you? He chucked you pretty good last time."
"Got notidea," Sam said after too many moments of silence.
"Sam, do us a favor. If you're gonna keep your little secrets, I can't really stop you, but just don't treat us like an idiot, okay?"
"What? I'm not keeping secrets."
"You think I believe you?" you asked as you moved to sit next to Dean. "I have the same blood running through my veins, don't you forget. It's one thing to lie to us, and it's another to do it when I'm looking right at you."
"I'm not keeping secrets," he lied.
"Mm-hm. Whatever. So, did you go back and q-and-a the dead kid?" Dean asked, moving on.
"Didn't have to. Bobby called. He did some digging. He thinks you're right. Local reaper's gone. Not just gone—kidnapped."
"By demons? Why?"
"Listen to this," he said as he opened the notebook and began reading from it. "And he bloodied death under the newborn sky—sweet to taste, but bitter when once devoured."
"Swanky. What the hell's that mean?"
"Well, it's from a very obscure, very arcane version of Revelations. Basically, you kill a reaper under the solstice moon—tomorrow night, by the way—you got yourself a broken seal."
"How do you ice a reaper? You can't kill death," you sighed.
"I don't know. Maybe demons can. Where the hell are the angels is what I want to know. We could use their help for once."
"It looks like we're gonna have to take care of this one ourselves," you declared.
"What are we going to do? Reapers are invisible. The only people who can see reapers are the dead and dying."
"Exactly," you said with a smile.
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"Now, before we go in there, I just want to say I know this is a lot to ask for," you began as you led Pamela down the hallway.
"No, this is insane. I hate that you brought me out here for this," she sighed.
"You're the only one who can do this," you sighed, looking at her sunglasses. Knowing there was only white eyes under that, you thought of something you could give her. "Do this for us, and I can give you what you want."
"And what is that?" she turned to face you with her arms crossed. Deciding it was best to show her instead of telling, you pressed two fingers to her forehead. Thinking back to a spell you found in a witch's grimoire once on a hunt, you began chanting the spell. If you can do magic without spells, just think of the power you have with spells.
As you muttered the chant, you moved your fingers from her forehead to yours, doing this over and over again until a white mist began forming between the two of you. Pamela didn't know what was going on, but for a split second, she could have sworn she could see you right in front of her. Before the spell was complete, you took your hand away and stopped chanting.
"How did you do that?" she gasped.
"I can do a lot of things now. You do this for us, I'll give you back your eyes."
"I don't like this, Y/N, I don't have eyes. Castiel burned them out."
"Do you want to see or not?"
"What do I have to do?" she asked with a sigh.
"Come on," you walked to the door with her before knocking on it. The lock turned before Sam opened it, but Pamela wasn't happy about this. She didn't even know if she wanted this transfer or not. What she felt wasn't good, it was black magic which isn't who you are. You aren't some witch who uses herbs and dabbles in black magic. You're a light witch, all natural sources and energy. Tamper with that, and you can't go back.
"I can't even begin to tell you how crazy you three are."
"Well, Pamela, you're a sight for sore eyes," Sam chuckled. She turned around before lowering her glasses.
"Aw, that's sweet, grumpy," she said as she put the glasses back on. "What do you say to deaf people? Which one of you brainiacs came up with astral projection?"
"I did," you said.
"Y/N, a word, please?" Pamela asked, and you led her to the other side of the room to get some sense of privacy.
"What is it?"
"I'll help you, but I won't do it for the eyes. I didn't like the feeling I got when you did that spell. I can feel the power in your veins, and it's good. It's pure light energy, solid energy. That spell you did tampered with it. Once you go that route, all that good will be stripped away. Do you understand?"
"Yeah," you whispered, trying to process her words.
"So, let's be clear," Pamela said loudly, turning her attention to the brothers. Dean looked at you to see your brows furrowed worriedly. He knew whatever Pamela said to you made you look like that. "You want to rip your souls out of your bodies and take a little stroll through the spirit world? Do you have any idea how heavy-duty insane that is?"
"Yeah, but you know what you're doing," Dean sighed.
"Yeah, I do, and guess what? I'm sick of being hauled back into your angel-demon, Soc-Greaser shit."
"We're talking the end of the world here, okay? No more tasseled leather pants, no more Ramones CDs, no more nothing. We need your help."
"Please, Pamela," you whispered.
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Sam and Dean got the room ready for Pamela as she sat between the two beds there. Sitting in front of her, you stared at her with worry in your eyes.
"Why are you staring at me?"
"How did you know that stuff about me?"
"Sweetie, I know a lot about witches. Nasty things, but not you. I've read about witches like you."
"So, there are others like me?" you asked with a hopeful tone.
"Witches that have been long dead. The only recent one I know of happened to be in the 60s," she revealed, making tears spring to your eyes.
"That was my mom," you muttered.
"Light witches are natural. They don't tap into dark magic to do the things they can do. They use the elements around them, heal things, make things better. Can you heal?"
"Only if I concentrate," you whispered. Sam and Dean pretended not to hear about this but they could, "and I can't do a lot, only little cuts."
"Keep practicing, and you'll be mending broken bones and shredded flesh like it's Sunday brunch."
"Why am I the only one like this?"
"I can't answer that. Maybe those Angels on your shoulder could."
"Thanks," you whispered, wondering if your mom could have told you this. Now you'll never know.
"Alright," Pamela addressed everyone in the room as she patted the beds, "Lie down and close your eyes."
Getting on the bed, Dean joined your side as Sam got on the other one. Pamela started the spell, saying the words perfectly.
"Animum vultdecipi, ergo decipiatur. Vis, vis, vis. Okay, guys. That's it. Showtime," she said. Opening your eyes, you got up but didn't feel any different. Looking at Dean, you shrugged when he sighed.
"Well, nothing like shooting blanks. What's plan B?" he asked, but Pamela didn't answer. Frowning, you looked over at Sam until you heard breathing come from behind you. Sam was standing there which meant the spell worked. Looking back at your body, you studied your features.
"That's what I look like?" you asked as you got up.
"I'm not complaining," Dean smirked.
"You could have told me my hair looked like this," you whined.
"Alright, so, I'm assuming you're somewhere over the rainbow," Pamela talked into the air. "Remember I have to bring you back. I'll whisper the incantation in your ear."
She got up and walked to Sam before whispering something gin his ear. Whatever she said made Sam smirk, and apparently only he could hear it.
"What'd she say?" Dean asked but he shrugged. Pamela walked over to you before whispering in your ear.
"Light witches always know the good thing to do. You'll feel like you're making the wrong decision but it's in your blood to do right."
"Thanks, Pamela," you whispered.
"What did she say?" Dean asked.
"I'll tell you later. Come on," you said before walking to the door. Looking at Sam and Dean, you took a shot in the dark before taking a deep breath. "I hope this works," you sighed before confidently walking through the door. Laughing, you turned to see Sam and Dean doing the same.
"This is awesome," Dean grinned.
"We need to find Cole," you said before walking through the town. On the way, you couldn't seem to find any signs of death or demons. It was freaking you out, but maybe Cole had something to say about it. Stepping onto the sidewalk, you gasped when you saw a jogger headed straight towards you three. She didn't seem to notice, and ran right through Sam.
"That was wild," Dean grinned before smirking as an idea popped in his head. He stuck his arm right through Sam's chest, and you did the same exact thing to piss him off. Sam looked at your arms before giving you both a stony look.
"Are we making you uncomfortable?"
"Get out of me," Sam sighed. Scoffing lightly, you and Dean moved your arms before Dean spoke again.
"You're such a prude. Come on."
Crossing the street, you walked all the way to Cole's house only to see him in the window, staring straight at the three of you.
"There he is, we need to talk to him," you said just as Cole flickered before vanishing.