Supernatural Oneshots | ✓

Orange Jumpsuits {Dean}

Prompt inspiration: n/a

Prompt: n/a

Summary/prompt change: The Winchesters get thrown in jail while you're working a case with them, but you think they're dead. Dean shows up as you're packing to leave town.

Warnings: well there's swearing. And a very angry reader.

Pairing(s): reader/Dean

You started packing things up hours ago, but you'd been sidetracked by little things. A notebook, filled with Sam's somehow-neat-but-somehow-messy handwriting. A crumpled piece of lined paper that you and Dean had written short messages on back and forth while Sam tried to work through some videos and audio files that had to do with what you'd been hunting when you got here nearly a month ago. The jacket Dean had tossed over you when you were shaking from both cold and blood loss a few hunts back. The note Sam had left for you to find when you got back from investigating, telling you to not worry and go to sleep, that they'd gotten a lead and would be back before you woke up.

You crumpled the note and tossed it aside, watching the little pink ball of paper roll under the motel bed. It had been a lie. When you woke up, everything was exactly as you had left it. And Sam and Dean were still gone.

It had been a month since you found that little note stuck on the bathroom door, a month since you waited hours, days, for the Winchesters to walk back through that door. It had been three weeks since you started the hunt again, a little less since you dispatched the vengeful spirit. Two since you'd single-handedly taken down a nest of vampires, since you'd heard from whispers that the Winchester brothers were dead.

You shook your head and pulled yourself up from the floor, grabbing the note and stuffing it into what was Sam's bag along with his laptop and books. You checked your watch–an old one of Dean's, barely used, that he all but forced you to take a while back after finding out that you didn't own one–and started to move faster, all too aware that the owner would be coming soon to tell you to pay or get out.

You were halfway through stuffing Dean's clothes into his bag when the lock clicked. Great, you thought. Now I get to play the apologetic, confused girl and explain that I'll only be another ten minutes. You hated having to play with people, but that was the business. You had to deal.

"I'm almost done," you said once the door was open. "I'll be leaving as soon as–" You had been starting for the bed closest to the door, where more of Dean's clothes were laid out, but froze when you looked up.

Dean stood in the doorway, dressed in a thin orange jumpsuit. Orange was an overall shitty color, but somehow Dean managed to pull off the look. His lips curved into a smirk. "Thought you'd been gone by now."

You couldn't move. "You're dead." Your voice was soft.

Dean took a step into the room and shut the door. Your hand slipped behind your back, into your back pocket, where you had a silver letter opener hidden. Your fingers curled around the handle, the metal cool against your skin. You moved back. "Sammy and I are fine, Y/N." He said. "Did you finish the hunt?"

You nodded slowly. "And I killed off a nest. Dean, where the hell have you been?" You needed to relax. You needed him to think you were at ease, so you could see if it really was Dean. You didn't put anything past the shapeshifters around here, even though you had an unofficial agreement with them (you don't get malevolent or violent, I keep out of your way). Shapeshifters didn't like being bossed around.

"Prison." He said. "We got caught, but we're out." He moved closer, and this time, you didn't step back. "Are you okay? You look a little pale."

You swallowed hard. "I heard you were dead."

Dean laughed. "It'll take a lot more than a pissed off ghost to kill us, sweetheart." He kept moving closer, and then he was so close that you were nearly touching. You closed your eyes and inhaled shakily. You'd missed the older Winchester more than you would've liked to admit.

"I would hope so," you said, and then you lashed out with the letter opener, slicing across his forearm faster than he could move.

Dean stumbled back, hissing, clutching his bleeding arm. "What the hell, Y/N?" No reaction other than bleeding and anger.

You dropped the letter opener, racing across the room to grab the first aid kit where you'd packed it away. "Sit down, damn it." You pushed him onto the bed and grabbed his arm, working fast to bandage it. "I told you, I heard you and Sam were dead. Had to check to be sure it was really you."

"So you decided to stab me?"

"Don't be so dramatic, Winchester." You cleaned the cut, and he winced at how rough you were. "I cut you. There's a difference. How the hell did you two get caught?"

"Don't know." Dean said.

"You were gone for a month, Dean. Sorry, did they not want you to call anyone?"

"I wasn't going to lead them to you." You started wrapping his arm. "I didn't need you getting locked up too. You wouldn't survive a day in prison."

"I'm stronger than you think, Dean."

"I know." He said. "I don't need your name getting linked with ours. Sammy and I can't escape this, but you sure as hell can, and I'd rather have you clueless and safe than knowing and hunted."

"Awfully noble of you." You grumbled. "There, you're done." You looked up, then grabbed his jaw and forced his head to the side. "Dammit Dean, did you have to get into fights?" You stood up and crossed the room, grabbing his bag and throwing jeans and a shirt at him. "Get changed."

You turned away, continuing packing things up. You set aside jeans and a t-shirt for Sam.

"Son of a bitch," Dean hissed, and you turned. His jumpsuit was half-off, the top unbuttoned and hanging around his hips, exposing his upper body. His entire left side was painted in black and purple and blue.

"Dean Winchester, I am going to kill you." You shook your head and started across the room. "You are so lucky I'm still in shock that you're alive, otherwise I'd hit you so hard that you'd be seeing stars."

Dean pulled on his shirt and started to drop the jumpsuit, kicking it off. "I'm burning that later."

"You might want to keep it, in case they decide to take you back."

"Someone's in a bad mood."

"I'm seriously starting to consider punching you." You zipped up the last bag and then turned to him, grabbing his shoulder as he finished buttoning up his jeans. "Stand still." You slid up his shirt.

"What are you doing?"

"Checking to make sure that your ribs aren't broken, dumbass. The last thing I'm thinking about is anything involving you and no shirt." You pressed your fingers against his breastbone, and he gasped. "Broken." You said. "Good job, asshole."

Dean chuckled. "Last time you said that–"

"Let's not talk about that." You were quick to cut him off. You didn't want to think about the night you and Dean got trashed when you were mad at him. You didn't want to think about anything involving Dean and tequila until you got over the fact that he'd been in prison the whole time rather than Purgatory or Hell. You stood, letting his shirt fall. "We're leaving. Let's go."

Dean chuckled. "Nice to see you again too, Y/N."