HOME | DD

Description
“C’mon (Y/N), eat something,” Dean says looking at your full plate. “Don’t make me worry about you, girl.” The expression on his face is emotionless. There’s no worry. It’s just another proof that the real Dean is gone. The realization can’t hit you anymore. The way Dean hit you back at the bar two days ago made it clear. Crystal clear. You pushed him away when he tried to get more from you than a kiss and for that you just got another hit in the face. He kissed you again. It seems like the ice is broken since that night in the bar. Dean is doing whatever he wants to do. Demon Dean ate the old Dean. Completely. You have no idea why he actually let you live. You would rather be dead than watching demon Dean ruining normal Dean’s life.

“(Y/N)…” Dean says warningly.

You look at him. No actually you look through him. The waitress who brought you your dinner is watching you for a while now. She must hate Dean for what he’s doing to you. Everyone who sees your black eye and the dark marks at your wrists must hate Dean. “I’m not hungry,” you just say turning your attention to Dean again. “Can we leave now?” You ask quietly. Every question could be the beginning of a fight and you know that you’re just not strong enough for another fight. You didn’t sleep well the past nights. Nightmares haunted your nights letting you wake up screaming. Dean kills. Dean tortures. Dean screams. Dean hurts. Dean dies. There is always a new version of demon Dean rocking your dreams. Every. Damn. Night.

“Whatever,” Dean says nonchalantly. “Let’s go.” He puts the Money on the table and together you get up. You can feel the waitress gazing at you while you leave the diner and as you turn around to look, her eyes meet yours. She slightly shakes her head causing you to stop. You stare at her as if she’s the last human on earth. There is a thought unspoken. A thought you locked up deep inside yourself and it seems like this woman is screaming your thought out loud without even saying something. You have a choice. You pretend there is none, but you have a choice. You can do something. You’re not helpless. You’re just a little lost. That’s all.

“(Y/N), you’re coming or what?” Dean asks annoyed, letting you startle. “We don’t have all day!”

Actually you both have all day, but still, you turn around nearly running up to Dean. He looks at you scrutinizing before he continues walking. You know that Dean watches you carefully since that night in the bar. You guess Dean’s expecting you to run away or do anything else stupid. Now that he finally showed his most horrible side it wouldn’t actually be that absurd to run away. But you can’t. You feel like you’re the only connection left between Sam and Dean. If you run away it would be harder than ever for Sam to find Dean. Because Sam is counting on you. He probably waits for a sign. He counts on you. No more time for crying.

You need a fucking plan.

“So …” you start after a while of just hearing ‘Hero of the day’ which is leaving the speakers.

“Are you up to something tonight? Another bar, another girl or something?” you inquire trying to seem as cool as possible. You make small talk. You just try to make conversation. That’s all. After all that happened maybe a little small talk would help loosen the mood. You’re not planning something. You’re just being polite. Really. Not really.

“Why’re you asking?” Dean asks with a serious expression on his face. ‘Of course,’ you think. ‘Of course he noticed.’

You smile slightly still focused on staying cool. “I’m just asking. What’s wrong about that? Never heard about small talk?” You ask him almost too casually. You know this is a really dangerous thing to do. Playing games with a demon could be your last mistake and since Dean became one he has this creepy intuition you always thought only women had. He knows all before you know it. He senses lies before you actually speak them out. You by now call it the ‘Demon-Bonus’. A bonus for him, a minus for you.

“Small talk,” Dean mumbles. Then he suddenly starts laughing. “Really. Two days ago I just beat the pretty out of you and now you want to make small talk?” This time his sarcasm leaves you shocked. You know, you shouldn’t be shocked after all that Dean said and did. But ouch.

“You didn’t have to remind me of that,” you whisper, your eyes falling to your lap while you start to pick at your sleeves again. You take a few deep breaths reminding yourself about your fourth rule. Don’t give in. Because there are many ways to give in right now. Running away would be a way to give in, even though it sounds more like giving up. Breaking down would be a way to give in. Making out with Dean would be another way. Killing Dean – you don’t even want to think about that option. It would be too easy and the easy way is mostly the wrong one. You would not give in. No way.

“Me and Crowley we have professional things to do. Hell business,” he says and you immediately feel your heart skip a beat at the last two words. “You’ll stay at the motel, you really caused enough problems.”

“So what? You just leave me back at the motel room while you start your part time job at ‘Hell Inc.’? You really want to work for Crowley? For hell? That thing whose gates we wanted to close so desperately not long ago?” You shake your head letting out another heavy breath. “Wow. I can’t believe you’re aiming for the title of ‘best hellish employee of the year’. That’s nuts, even for you.” You can clearly see how Dean tightens his hands around the steering wheel, probably trying not to lose control over himself. Funny, you thought he wouldn’t care. Maybe he did after all.

“Oh sweetheart,” he says with a husky voice and a dry grin on his lips. “Another wrong word and you’ll have to pull my knife out of your leg.” His eyes point at the first blade right at his side. After a gulp of yours, he continues as if nothing happened, “Of course I’ll not let you dance around in our motel room like that. I’ll give you a cozy little place right next to the heating pipes. Trust me, you’ll enjoy it.” He laughs amused before turning the music louder. But you don’t care. You’re quite happy. Because you know something. Because you have an idea.

“Hey Dean,” you start while smiling innocently. “Do you mind if I skip through your father’s journal?”

--*--

‘Try something stupid and you’ll be dead before you can say Poughkeepsie.’

“Shit shit shit shit shit.” Your hands are trembling as you try to crack the handcuffs open for what feels like the millionth time. The paper clip slips through your fingers before falling to the ground. “Come on, (Y/N), you can do this, just one more time and we’re free.” You tell yourself picking the paper clip up again. You close your eyes letting go of a deep breath before starting again. This is your only chance to make things right. You can’t fail. Paperclip inside. Slowly turn right. Stop at the trigger. Breathe. Slowly pushing forward. ‘Click’. There it is, there is the sound you waited for. You feel a wave of happiness reaching your heart letting you get up enthusiastically. For the first time in nearly three weeks you feel free.

‘Let’s not waste more time,’ you think while you start rushing through the motel room. The fast beat of your heart echoes in your ears letting your steps get faster. A bad feeling rumors inside your stomach. You don’t know how to feel about your plan. Maybe it’s right. But it doesn’t feel right at the moment. But you can’t hesitate either. There is no time for that. Now or never. With a small nod you throw your clothes out of their bag and into the bathroom. You put the handcuffs in the bag before running up to Dean’s night table.

‘Of course not,’ you think as you look into the empty drawer. Your gun is not there. ‘He would never leave you alone with a loaded gun.’ You stand still for a while; your brows furrowed your brain working hard. You stare out of the window over the park place and through another window. You can see the young waiter behind the reception, who welcomed you two days ago. You have an idea. “That might work out.”

You stumble back into the bathroom picking up one of your new t-shirts before throwing it into the toilet. With the toilet brush you push your t-shirt further down the pipe. Then you flush. Again and again and again. You kind of feel like a little child making a silly joke to tease your parents. It’s uplifting. The water flows over leaving a wet mess at the floor. You give your clothes at the ground a last look before leaving the bathroom again. Actually you didn’t like them anyway. You take the bag from your bed before leaving the motel room. You don’t close the door completely.

You look around yourself every once in a while hoping for a Dean-free zone. You don’t want to know what he would do to you in case he finds you outside the motel room. But you just shake your head, you shake off the bad feelings and the even worse thoughts about your punishment in case you would fail. You don’t mind your worries anymore. Instead you enter the lobby rushing to the reception like a wild hen. One thought spins through your head over and over again. Don’t waste time. Don’t waste time.

“Sorry, uhm, sorry I have a little problem with my motel room!” You say as if the world is about to end. You can’t resist looking around for other guests. Actually you don’t want to make a big show for everyone. You’re not everybody’s jester.

The young waiter looks at you with his weary semi-junkie eyes and a slight smile which seems as if someone drew it on his face. “How can I help you, ma’am?”

“My toilet is blocked up and the water won’t stop flowing,” you say acting like you’re just about to freak out.

The waiter ducks down for a little moment just to come up again with a toilet plunger in his hand.

“No problem, I’ll take care of it immediately. What’s your room number?”

“Thank you so much,” you say relieved. “It’s room 356. Uhm, do you mind if I use your telephone while you fix the little problem? I dropped my mobile phone somewhere and I really need to call my mechanic for my car suddenly decided to give up.” What a lie. What a mountain of lies. You feel dizzy yourself thinking about the impact of your plan.

“Of …of course, knock yourself out,” the waiter says stuttering and leaves the lobby with fast steps. You must admit you feel kind of sorry for him. And you think he’s kinda dumb for letting the reception completely unfilled.

You walk behind the reception starting to open every drawer you can find. “Come on, come on you can’t tell me-“ The next drawer is locked. You silence for a short while leaning yourself over the reception table to look if someone’s watching. No one’s there. “There better be a gun in there.” You say giving the drawer a hard kick before it cracks open. Motels and their crappy furniture.

You feel like cheering as you find a p8 handgun inside the drawer. But there’s not time to be happy. You’re about to leave the reception when you find a pack of brochures at the reception table. They're showing other local motels. You have an idea. “Maybe it’s time for a change of scene,” you put the gun under your jacket while you take one of the brochures with you. Then you leave the lobby again just to run back to your motel room.

You rumple the brochure in your hands before tearing the piece with the new motel name apart. You don’t enter your room, instead you place the piece of paper right in front of the door before you leave.

“There is one more thing to do,” you say while you stop right next to an old Mercedes. “You look good enough.” Looking around you break the window of the car. Right now there’re two things you’re really happy about. First: this old geezer-car doesn’t have an alarms system. Second: Dean once showed you how to get a car started without having the keys. How ironic. “Well Dean … your student is about to kick your ass.” You whisper as you get the car started. You’re not scared. But you’re not happy either. You, indeed, don’t know how to feel right now. You just want to end things.

Anyways, it would be too late for a drawback. You gotta do what you gotta do, right? Right.

‘Payphone, payphone, payphone … come on ...’ you think while you drive down the road. You could swear you saw one when you and Dean came back from the diner earlier. With one hand you fiddle in your pocket pulling out some loose cash you stole from the reception. “Payphone!” you exclaim as you see one at the right side of the road. You stop the car at the roadside. Jumping out of the car you jog to the payphone.

Your hands are trembling again. Your heart beats like crazy. It’s dangerous standing here. If Dean comes back earlier – you don’t want to think about it. Instead you select a number. You’re hoping. You’re wishing. Jesus, your praying!

“Hello?”

You’re heart nearly stops. Tears start to blur your vision. A sob escapes your lips.

“(Y/N)? (Y/N), is that you?”

“Thank God!” you cry out. “Please … help me Sam!”

Description
“C’mon (Y/N), eat something,” Dean says looking at your full plate. “Don’t make me worry about you, girl.” The expression on his face is emotionless. There’s no worry. It’s just another proof that the real Dean is gone. The realization can’t hit you anymore. The way Dean hit you back at the bar two days ago made it clear. Crystal clear. You pushed him away when he tried to get more from you than a kiss and for that you just got another hit in the face. He kissed you again. It seems like the ice is broken since that night in the bar. Dean is doing whatever he wants to do. Demon Dean ate the old Dean. Completely. You have no idea why he actually let you live. You would rather be dead than watching demon Dean ruining normal Dean’s life.

“(Y/N)…” Dean says warningly.

You look at him. No actually you look through him. The waitress who brought you your dinner is watching you for a while now. She must hate Dean for what he’s doing to you. Everyone who sees your black eye and the dark marks at your wrists must hate Dean. “I’m not hungry,” you just say turning your attention to Dean again. “Can we leave now?” You ask quietly. Every question could be the beginning of a fight and you know that you’re just not strong enough for another fight. You didn’t sleep well the past nights. Nightmares haunted your nights letting you wake up screaming. Dean kills. Dean tortures. Dean screams. Dean hurts. Dean dies. There is always a new version of demon Dean rocking your dreams. Every. Damn. Night.

“Whatever,” Dean says nonchalantly. “Let’s go.” He puts the Money on the table and together you get up. You can feel the waitress gazing at you while you leave the diner and as you turn around to look, her eyes meet yours. She slightly shakes her head causing you to stop. You stare at her as if she’s the last human on earth. There is a thought unspoken. A thought you locked up deep inside yourself and it seems like this woman is screaming your thought out loud without even saying something. You have a choice. You pretend there is none, but you have a choice. You can do something. You’re not helpless. You’re just a little lost. That’s all.

“(Y/N), you’re coming or what?” Dean asks annoyed, letting you startle. “We don’t have all day!”

Actually you both have all day, but still, you turn around nearly running up to Dean. He looks at you scrutinizing before he continues walking. You know that Dean watches you carefully since that night in the bar. You guess Dean’s expecting you to run away or do anything else stupid. Now that he finally showed his most horrible side it wouldn’t actually be that absurd to run away. But you can’t. You feel like you’re the only connection left between Sam and Dean. If you run away it would be harder than ever for Sam to find Dean. Because Sam is counting on you. He probably waits for a sign. He counts on you. No more time for crying.

You need a fucking plan.

“So …” you start after a while of just hearing ‘Hero of the day’ which is leaving the speakers.

“Are you up to something tonight? Another bar, another girl or something?” you inquire trying to seem as cool as possible. You make small talk. You just try to make conversation. That’s all. After all that happened maybe a little small talk would help loosen the mood. You’re not planning something. You’re just being polite. Really. Not really.

“Why’re you asking?” Dean asks with a serious expression on his face. ‘Of course,’ you think. ‘Of course he noticed.’

You smile slightly still focused on staying cool. “I’m just asking. What’s wrong about that? Never heard about small talk?” You ask him almost too casually. You know this is a really dangerous thing to do. Playing games with a demon could be your last mistake and since Dean became one he has this creepy intuition you always thought only women had. He knows all before you know it. He senses lies before you actually speak them out. You by now call it the ‘Demon-Bonus’. A bonus for him, a minus for you.

“Small talk,” Dean mumbles. Then he suddenly starts laughing. “Really. Two days ago I just beat the pretty out of you and now you want to make small talk?” This time his sarcasm leaves you shocked. You know, you shouldn’t be shocked after all that Dean said and did. But ouch.

“You didn’t have to remind me of that,” you whisper, your eyes falling to your lap while you start to pick at your sleeves again. You take a few deep breaths reminding yourself about your fourth rule. Don’t give in. Because there are many ways to give in right now. Running away would be a way to give in, even though it sounds more like giving up. Breaking down would be a way to give in. Making out with Dean would be another way. Killing Dean – you don’t even want to think about that option. It would be too easy and the easy way is mostly the wrong one. You would not give in. No way.

“Me and Crowley we have professional things to do. Hell business,” he says and you immediately feel your heart skip a beat at the last two words. “You’ll stay at the motel, you really caused enough problems.”

“So what? You just leave me back at the motel room while you start your part time job at ‘Hell Inc.’? You really want to work for Crowley? For hell? That thing whose gates we wanted to close so desperately not long ago?” You shake your head letting out another heavy breath. “Wow. I can’t believe you’re aiming for the title of ‘best hellish employee of the year’. That’s nuts, even for you.” You can clearly see how Dean tightens his hands around the steering wheel, probably trying not to lose control over himself. Funny, you thought he wouldn’t care. Maybe he did after all.

“Oh sweetheart,” he says with a husky voice and a dry grin on his lips. “Another wrong word and you’ll have to pull my knife out of your leg.” His eyes point at the first blade right at his side. After a gulp of yours, he continues as if nothing happened, “Of course I’ll not let you dance around in our motel room like that. I’ll give you a cozy little place right next to the heating pipes. Trust me, you’ll enjoy it.” He laughs amused before turning the music louder. But you don’t care. You’re quite happy. Because you know something. Because you have an idea.

“Hey Dean,” you start while smiling innocently. “Do you mind if I skip through your father’s journal?”

--*--

‘Try something stupid and you’ll be dead before you can say Poughkeepsie.’

“Shit shit shit shit shit.” Your hands are trembling as you try to crack the handcuffs open for what feels like the millionth time. The paper clip slips through your fingers before falling to the ground. “Come on, (Y/N), you can do this, just one more time and we’re free.” You tell yourself picking the paper clip up again. You close your eyes letting go of a deep breath before starting again. This is your only chance to make things right. You can’t fail. Paperclip inside. Slowly turn right. Stop at the trigger. Breathe. Slowly pushing forward. ‘Click’. There it is, there is the sound you waited for. You feel a wave of happiness reaching your heart letting you get up enthusiastically. For the first time in nearly three weeks you feel free.

‘Let’s not waste more time,’ you think while you start rushing through the motel room. The fast beat of your heart echoes in your ears letting your steps get faster. A bad feeling rumors inside your stomach. You don’t know how to feel about your plan. Maybe it’s right. But it doesn’t feel right at the moment. But you can’t hesitate either. There is no time for that. Now or never. With a small nod you throw your clothes out of their bag and into the bathroom. You put the handcuffs in the bag before running up to Dean’s night table.

‘Of course not,’ you think as you look into the empty drawer. Your gun is not there. ‘He would never leave you alone with a loaded gun.’ You stand still for a while; your brows furrowed your brain working hard. You stare out of the window over the park place and through another window. You can see the young waiter behind the reception, who welcomed you two days ago. You have an idea. “That might work out.”

You stumble back into the bathroom picking up one of your new t-shirts before throwing it into the toilet. With the toilet brush you push your t-shirt further down the pipe. Then you flush. Again and again and again. You kind of feel like a little child making a silly joke to tease your parents. It’s uplifting. The water flows over leaving a wet mess at the floor. You give your clothes at the ground a last look before leaving the bathroom again. Actually you didn’t like them anyway. You take the bag from your bed before leaving the motel room. You don’t close the door completely.

You look around yourself every once in a while hoping for a Dean-free zone. You don’t want to know what he would do to you in case he finds you outside the motel room. But you just shake your head, you shake off the bad feelings and the even worse thoughts about your punishment in case you would fail. You don’t mind your worries anymore. Instead you enter the lobby rushing to the reception like a wild hen. One thought spins through your head over and over again. Don’t waste time. Don’t waste time.

“Sorry, uhm, sorry I have a little problem with my motel room!” You say as if the world is about to end. You can’t resist looking around for other guests. Actually you don’t want to make a big show for everyone. You’re not everybody’s jester.

The young waiter looks at you with his weary semi-junkie eyes and a slight smile which seems as if someone drew it on his face. “How can I help you, ma’am?”

“My toilet is blocked up and the water won’t stop flowing,” you say acting like you’re just about to freak out.

The waiter ducks down for a little moment just to come up again with a toilet plunger in his hand.

“No problem, I’ll take care of it immediately. What’s your room number?”

“Thank you so much,” you say relieved. “It’s room 356. Uhm, do you mind if I use your telephone while you fix the little problem? I dropped my mobile phone somewhere and I really need to call my mechanic for my car suddenly decided to give up.” What a lie. What a mountain of lies. You feel dizzy yourself thinking about the impact of your plan.

“Of …of course, knock yourself out,” the waiter says stuttering and leaves the lobby with fast steps. You must admit you feel kind of sorry for him. And you think he’s kinda dumb for letting the reception completely unfilled.

You walk behind the reception starting to open every drawer you can find. “Come on, come on you can’t tell me-“ The next drawer is locked. You silence for a short while leaning yourself over the reception table to look if someone’s watching. No one’s there. “There better be a gun in there.” You say giving the drawer a hard kick before it cracks open. Motels and their crappy furniture.

You feel like cheering as you find a p8 handgun inside the drawer. But there’s not time to be happy. You’re about to leave the reception when you find a pack of brochures at the reception table. They're showing other local motels. You have an idea. “Maybe it’s time for a change of scene,” you put the gun under your jacket while you take one of the brochures with you. Then you leave the lobby again just to run back to your motel room.

You rumple the brochure in your hands before tearing the piece with the new motel name apart. You don’t enter your room, instead you place the piece of paper right in front of the door before you leave.

“There is one more thing to do,” you say while you stop right next to an old Mercedes. “You look good enough.” Looking around you break the window of the car. Right now there’re two things you’re really happy about. First: this old geezer-car doesn’t have an alarms system. Second: Dean once showed you how to get a car started without having the keys. How ironic. “Well Dean … your student is about to kick your ass.” You whisper as you get the car started. You’re not scared. But you’re not happy either. You, indeed, don’t know how to feel right now. You just want to end things.

Anyways, it would be too late for a drawback. You gotta do what you gotta do, right? Right.

‘Payphone, payphone, payphone … come on ...’ you think while you drive down the road. You could swear you saw one when you and Dean came back from the diner earlier. With one hand you fiddle in your pocket pulling out some loose cash you stole from the reception. “Payphone!” you exclaim as you see one at the right side of the road. You stop the car at the roadside. Jumping out of the car you jog to the payphone.

Your hands are trembling again. Your heart beats like crazy. It’s dangerous standing here. If Dean comes back earlier – you don’t want to think about it. Instead you select a number. You’re hoping. You’re wishing. Jesus, your praying!

“Hello?”

You’re heart nearly stops. Tears start to blur your vision. A sob escapes your lips.

“(Y/N)? (Y/N), is that you?”

“Thank God!” you cry out. “Please … help me Sam!”