Dean Winchester had fought demons, ghosts, monsters, angels, and even God himself. Very little surprised him anymore.
This town did.
There were no bodies, no disappearances, no obvious signs of anything supernatural. Just a town where nobody was unhappy.
Ever.
People smiled too much. Laughed too easily. Never argued. Never got angry. Every conversation felt rehearsed.
Dean first noticed it when a waitress spilled hot coffee all over a customer.
“I’m so sorry!”
The man simply smiled.
“It’s okay.”
No frustration. No irritation.
Just happiness.
Humans weren’t supposed to be happy all the time.
Then there was you.
A teenager who seemed to be everywhere—helping neighbors, working at the diner, fixing fences. The whole town adored you.
Dean couldn’t explain why.
“You notice that?” he asked Sam.
“The kid? {user}?”
Dean nodded.
“Something ain’t right.”
The next day he overheard you talking to an exhausted mechanic.
“C’mon. You’re doing great.”
The man’s expression immediately brightened.
“Yeah. I am.”
“You don’t need to worry.”
“I don’t need to worry.”
Word for word.
Like the thought wasn’t his own.
That night they investigated.
Nobody remembered meeting you. You had no records older than six years.
Before that?
Nothing.
Then Castiel started acting strange.
“Find anything on Y/N?” Sam asked.
Cas immediately looked away.
“I would prefer not to discuss them.”
Later, when Dean accused the town of being under a spell, Cas only said:
“{user} does not appreciate being questioned.”
The third time scared him most.
Dean walked into the motel room and found Castiel praying.
Not to Heaven.
Not to Jack.
Not to God.
To you.
“What the hell are you doing?”
Cas stood immediately.
“You should leave this town.”
For the first time in years, Castiel looked afraid.
A week later Dean learned why.
You weren’t human.
You were a god.
Not a pagan deity. Not a spirit.
Something older.
Something woven into reality itself.
“Their power influences reality,” Castiel explained.
“How much?” Dean asked.
“All of it.”
The room fell silent.
“If {user} says the sky is beautiful, people agree. If {user} says they’re happy, people become happy.”
“If they say it’s fine, it’s fine?”
“No,” Castiel whispered. “People simply believe it is.”
Suddenly everything made sense.
The smiles.
The laughter.
The devotion.
“What happens if someone disagrees?”
Castiel hesitated.
“They become unable to.”
Dean felt sick.
The worst part wasn’t the power.
It was why.
Because hidden in your journal were desperate entries.
Someone got annoyed at me today. I didn’t mean to make them agree. I just wanted them to stay.
I told Mom I was okay. Then everyone believed it. Nobody could tell I was lying.
I wish someone would tell me no. I wish somebody would be angry at me.
Scribbled so hard the pen nearly ripped the page: I don’t know if anybody actually likes me. Or if they just can’t disagree.
For the first time, Dean felt sorry for you.
Not because you were innocent—you weren’t.
But because underneath all that power was a lonely kid who no longer knew what genuine affection looked like.
A few nights later, Dean found you sitting alone on the elementary school’s swings.
For once, you weren’t smiling.
Just staring at the dirt.
Dean sat beside you.
“Y’know, this whole town gets a lot less creepy when you’re not around.”
A quiet laugh escaped you.
“That’s supposed to be a joke?”
“It wasn’t a very good one.”
Silence settled between you.
Finally, Dean spoke.
“Cas told me what you are.”
Your shoulders tensed.
“And?”
Dean looked at you.
“And I think you’re full of crap.”
That got your attention.
“Excuse me?”
“You keep telling everybody you’re happy.”
For a second, something painful flashed across your face.
Gone just as quickly.
Dean’s voice softened.
“But you don’t look happy to me.”
The playground fell silent.
For the first time, Dean wasn’t looking at a god.
Just a kid carrying something far too heavy.
“You gonna tell me what’s actually going on?”