Broken Apart (Dean Winchester x Reader)

Where am I?

It was as if there was a switch in your brain. One minute it had been shut off, the next, back on at full speed. Sitting up you groaned as your head started pounding. Placing a hand on your temple to try to ease some of the pain, you peered around the room wondering where you were. 

Wherever it was, it was dark, and dreary, smelling musky and old. There was no light to be had anywhere, not even the slightest bit coming from everywhere. Starting to panic, you moved to stand up, before realizing you were sitting on something, cold, and metal, and about four feet off the ground. Sliding your legs over, you dropped to the ground, the echo in the room letting you know it was pavement. 

Your arms out in front of you, you stumbled around, tripping over God knows what, your hand brushing against, plastic, glass, metal, and everything in between. Finally, without falling, you came to a wall. Spreading your hands out, you felt around, past posters and storage containers. Up and down you felt, almost jumping for joy when your hand hit a switch. Flicking it up, you were almost blinded by the bright, neon light that filled the room. 

Giving your eyes a moment to adjust, you then began to focus on your surroundings. The room was windowless, with plain white walls on every side covered with posters and signs. Shelving filled two of the sides, plain silver filing cabinets and drawers that you would find in any supply closet. It was the fourth wall, straight across from you that had you confused. It was lined with big silver doors, about twelve total, in three rows. Each door was at least big enough to hold one body, and that's when it hit you. The cold, steel tables in the middle, the posters of human bodies around the walls, and the coolers at the other end. Somehow you had woken up in a morgue.

Rushing to the door, you pulled on the handle, a frustrated sob escaping you when it wouldn't budge. Standing in the middle, you rotated, looking for a way out, for a way to reach someone. In the corner was a mirror, and you walked over to it, checking yourself over for injuries. You seemed fine, no mortal wounds, or anything graced your skin, making you even more confused as to why you had woken up here, in the dark.

You started opening up the drawers, one by one, trying to find anything to get you out of this mess. You passed up needles, and other various medical equipment, holding on to a small, silver surgical knife for precautions. You didn't understand why, but you felt the need to have something there to protect yourself with.

As you rummaged through another drawer, a small black box on the floor drew your interest. Picking it up, you sighed in relief as you saw the familiar shape of a cell phone in your hand. Opening it up, you saw the battery flashing red, and you knew you had time to make one quick call before it died.

Your hand arched over the keypad, you waited for someone's number, someone's name to pop up from your memories. Someone you knew that would answer and come running to your rescue. But the seconds ticked slowly by, and your mind continued to stay blank. Not even a face popped up, nothing but static was in your mind, and that scared you more than being locked in a morgue. 

You glanced over towards the human fridges, wondering if there were bodies in there, the thought running shivers up and down your spine. You turned back to the phone, ready to dial 911 when the screen turned black, and you knew it had run out of battery.

Your back against the wall, you slid down it, frustrated and scared. Your head in your hands, you tried to control your breathing, trying not to let this totally freak you out. It was scary enough being in a morgue, all alone, but now you couldn't even think of a single person you knew. Not one. You tried thinking back, to remember your name, your birthday, anything, but it was all a blank slate. 

You wanted to curl up, to lay on your side, and let your fears take over. You weren't even sure what type of person you were. Maybe you were the type to tackle things head on, to fight and not give up. Or maybe you were the type that wanted to avoid conflict, and you were more than willing to lay down and worry about all your troubles.

As you sat there, tears threatening to spill over, you heard movement from outside the door. You sat up straight, your tears forgotten as you held on tightly to the small silver knife you had found. You slowly came to your feet, inching over to the door. A sound of scuffling came from the other side, before a male voice started speaking, his words muffled.

You weighed your options. You could stay in here, and wait to see if you could find your own way out. Or you could try to draw that man's attention, seeing if he would help you. You decided to choose the latter, hoping it was the right choice. Hopefully this man wasn't the one who had put you in the morgue in the first place.

Pounding on the door, you yelled, trying to gain his attention. "Help! I'm locked in here!" You screamed, your voice surprisingly hoarse.

You heard him yell from the other side, but you couldn't understand his words. You kept on pounding, when you heard someone jiggling the the door handle. "It won't open!" You yelled to him.

Within moments, the handle was turning, and the door opened. On the other side stood a man. He was tall, filling out the entire door frame with his stature. He had long hair, almost to his shoulders, shoulders that were quite impressive in their width. He held a gun in one hand, his long arms covered in flannel. 

"Oh my God! Thank you so much! I was locked in here, and I..." You started to say, but stopped at the look on this mans face.

"Y/N?" He whispered, before pulling you to him in a bone crushing hug. "Thank God! We thought you were dead, that the cloud somehow had killed you! We looked for you everywhere! What are you doing here?" He blurted out, his words coming fast, his voice deep but smooth.

"Um excuse me." You said, and he stopped talking, looking down at you. "But who are you?"