Supernatural Short Stories

Hidden in the Shadows

You had quietly watched from afar, never stepping in. Never getting noticed. You had been fine with that. Watching the Winchesters from afar. Wishing you could help them, but knowing what would happen if you did.

Dean Winchester intrigued you. He was brutal but kind. Smart yet acted as if he wasn't. He was extremely good looking, with his strong shoulders and jaw, his plump lips and those green eyes. Eyes that showed so much love and compassion for his friends and family. But you feared you would only see hate in those jade colored orbs.

Year after year, you stayed hidden, helping out when you thought you wouldn't get caught. Taking out Angels, or other Demons. Staying topside to miss the wrath of those down below. Nobody missed you down below, and you were grateful for that. You were stuck in the middle, forgotten by the Demons, never noticed by the humans.

Until Monday. The 24th of January. A day you always remember. If you lived long enough to remember, that is. You had stumbled from your car, parked in the forest where you had thought you would be hidden from the Bunker and its occupants. But as you stretched your arms, a gun was placed against your back, the barrel cold through your sweatshirt.

"Who the hell are you?" Dean growled, his voice recognizable anywhere.

Taking a deep breath, you held your hands up, wondering how you should handle this. You had dreamed of this, many times. Some had turned into nightmares, but some had turned out in your favor. You just hoped that this was one of the good times. "I'm a friend," you answered.

"A friend? I've never seen you in my life," he spat, turning you to face him, holding the gun up against your neck, his other hand tight on your arm. "Why the hell would a friend be parked in the forest, hidden?"

"Because I wasn't sure of my reception," you answered. "Listen, I have no weapons on me. Can we go to the bunker and talk? Or sit in my car? I promise I'm not here to do any harm."

"Your car," he answered, pushing you towards it. "You're not getting into the bunker until I can trust you."

You could live with that, you thought to yourself as he opened the passenger seat of your little SUV, pushing you inside. He sat on the driver's seat, his gun still held tight in his hand. "Talk. Tell me why I shouldn't just shoot you now."

"Because that won't work on me," you spoke slowly and clearly, picking your words carefully. You were nervous and excited at the same time. Finally, you were talking to Dean Winchester. Being this close to him was intoxicating, and if you weren't careful you could get caught in the depths of that gaze. "I'm a Demon."

He cursed under his breath, pulling out that legendary Demon killing blade, holding it against your neck before you could blink. "Why the hell would I trust a Demon?"

"I don't expect you to," you sighed. "I know Demons are untrustworthy and have backstabbed you before. I don't expect you to expect me to be any different."

You could see your answer confused him. "Tell me, why are you sneaking around the Bunker?"

"I've been keeping an eye on you," you admitted. "For years now. Helping out when needed. Always out of sight."

"How can I believe that?" He asked, pressing the blade closer to your skin.

"Dallas. The ghouls there. Someone came in, killed them before they killed you," you spoke from memory. "Pinedale. Those three Demons who wanted to hold you captive but suddenly disappeared. Or how about in Tulsa, when those books you needed magically appeared in your room."

With each memory you rattled off, each time you had helped them, you could see Dean's confidence wavering. Most were small events, a couple bigger, but you knew they had to be stuck in his mind. They had always been unexplained, a mystery in this crazed world. "Dean, how would I know about all of these unless I had a part in them?"

Your use of his name was the straw. Dean pulled his knife away, running his hand through his hair in frustration. "Say I believe you. Why? Why would you have helped us all these years?"

You wanted to tell him because you had fallen in love with him. But he would no doubt scoff at that. After all, who falls in love with a man they had never met? "Just because I'm a Demon does not mean I'm evil. I left hell as soon as I could. I guess you could consider me a rebel, but that doesn't fit either. I just wanted to do some good. If I could. And helping you, your brother. Even Cas. That seemed like the best thing I could do."

"I'm not saying I completely believe you," he muttered. "But I do want to know more. And I think Sammy and Cas should be in on this conversation as well. Why don't you follow me to the bunker, and we can talk more?"

The bunker. You had never made it inside the coveted space. The wards and spells were too strong for you. Dean kept the blade in his hand as the two of you walked the short distance to the bunker, your footsteps crunching in the snow. You could see your breath, but you weren't cold. One of the few perks of being a Demon.

Dean opened the front door, stepping inside to let you in, but you hesitated. "Sam shut the wards off!" Dean called out. Seconds later you could feel the absence of the magic, and you stepped through when they suddenly picked back up. They wouldn't keep you in, but they made you feel uncomfortable all the same.

The bunker was everything you had always imagined it would be. Rich dark cherry wood mixed with light-colored tile. Iron railing that burned your hand. A library in the distance that you just itched to get your fingers on. Sam stood at the bottom of the stairs, curiously peering up at you and Dean.

"Seems like we've had a stalker," Dean explained just as Cas made his way into the room. "She says she's been around for a while."

"I did feel a Demonic presence multiple times over the past couple of years," Cas spoke up. "Never that close, but I think I did mention it."

"I remember," Sam agreed. "Wasn't one time in Pueblo, Colorado? I almost died, but someone saved me. Afterward, you swore there was a Demon around, but we couldn't find it."

"That was me," you spoke to Sam, Dean watching you closely. "You were being held by a witch, and Dean and Cas had no idea where you were. You were in the basement of that two-story yellow house."

"Why have you never come forward?" Cas questioned.

"I agree. If you've been helping us, why have you never let us know?"

You let them guide you to the table covered in a large map, sitting down. "I'm a Demon. Would you have welcomed help by a Demon?"

"We have before," Sam muttered, making Dean laugh sarcastically.

"And look where that's got us."

"Dean, I'd like to hear more," Sam insisted. "And I'd like to know why she came forward now."

Dean propped his feet on the table, the blade laying on his lap. But he seemed calmer now, almost like he was okay with you being there. And that thought thrilled you. Made you wonder if someday you could be a part of this group. Be closer to Dean.

"I've spent enough time in the shadows," you spoke quietly, your eyes always on Dean, watching him closely. "I'd still like to help you if you'll let me."

Deancocked his head to the side, studying you closely. You could see he still had questions, and you knew it would be a long time before you earned his trust. "You saved Sammy's life. And that alone earns you a chance. Just don't make me regret it."