Abducted: Part One | SPN | Dean x Reader | Slow Burn

(This chapter was revised, 15th March, 2025)

December 2013

Dean escorted you through the front door of the diner, his hand over the middle of your back, guiding you towards one of the booths at the back of the small establishment. He barely touched you except on occasion when you or he would misstep to avoid other patrons and tables. His outstretched fingers tapped you accidentally then.

In his other hand he held a cream-coloured manila folder, which he placed on the table when you both took your seats.

As you perused the menu, a young waitress soon came over with a pot of coffee in one hand and a small notepad in the other. "Coffee?" She gestured towards the upturned mugs sitting in front of you. 

Dean glanced over at her and produced a very charming smile. And was that a wink?

'Okay. Dude's a major flirt.'

He nodded at the waitress and then looked over at you, questioning with his eyes.

"Thanks," you said with a sheepish smile. Caffeine sounded good, even if it was black and not made by a barista.

The waitress filled your mugs and proceeded to take your breakfast orders. Dean, opting for waffles and a side of bacon, while you were torn with indulging and being frugal after your ordeal.

Fresh fruit, pancakes, eggs, steak. It all had you salivating. Something so simple as hot buttered toast with Vegemite would've done wonders since the station, but it was cold when it arrived, and of course, no rosiness for your cheeks.

After you'd both finished eating and your plates had been cleared away, Dean handed you the manila folder.

On the side index, Jane Doe, 12/10/2013 was written in a scrawl. You'd grown accustomed to the dates being backwards now, so reading the twelfth of October when it should've been the tenth of December, didn't phase you. What did was the tosser's refusal to use the name you'd insisted was yours.

The contents revealed themselves to be documents from both the police station and the hospital. There were police reports, a witness's statement from the man you'd learned had found you on the highway. Doctor's notes, photocopies of your driver's licence front and back, and even your credit card details made an appearance.

There were also photographs of your purse and the things you kept in it, and ones that showed the markings that now covered your body.

You were thankful that the photos were zoomed in on the marks themselves and that there were no full images of your naked skin, saving your modesty to some degree. Dean had more than likely perused the file and everything in it.

Just perfect, because the photographs were clearly of you.

You recognised your skin tone and the odd freckles in places that made you, you. Your hair was visible in some shots, as were close-ups of your hands and feet. The creases of your fingers and the shape of your fingernails were exactly the same as what adorned your hands now.

The police officers had even contacted the Australian consulate just as they'd said, going as far as to contact your employer and the friends you'd told them you'd seen that night. Little notes here and there and the words, undetermined and false, jumped out at you.

"Underdressed?" you said, looking down at the clothes you wore. You'd been out clubbing that night, you wouldn't say you were underdressed. Jeans and a top. A little revealing but nothing flashy.

"For the weather. That's not your jacket, right?" Dean's voice carried over your thoughts.

Right. It was summer back in Australia and this jacket you now wore had come from the lost property at the hospital. Luckily, your lazy-arse hadn't been bothered to shave your legs that night and hadn't worn a dress.