Summary: Basically a Supernatural episode of that one Rosario Vampire. Plus you get to see more bi Dean. You're welcome.

“Heartstrings & Hexes”
The case starts, as it often does, with bodies.
Not torn apart. Not ritualistically sacrificed. Just… blissfully drained. Every victim wore the same expression—soft smiles, glassy eyes, like they’d died in the middle of a perfect dream.
“Incubus,” Sam says, flipping his laptop around in the motel room. “Feeds on desire. Emotional and sexual energy. Leaves people hollowed out.”
Dean takes a sip of his beer. “So basically a supernatural rock star.”
Sam shoots him a look. “He’s operating out of a club in Tulsa. Live music. Packed crowds. Perfect feeding ground.”
Dean grins. “You saying we gotta go undercover? ‘Cause I look great in a leather jacket under neon lights.”
The Seduction Problem
The club is already pulsing when they arrive. Music thumps through the floor, lights smear everything in purple and red, and the crowd is way too into the man on stage warming up the mic.
He’s beautiful in that unfair, supernatural way—dark curls, predatory smile, eyes that seem to lock onto people and not let go.
Dean freezes.
Sam notices instantly. “Dean. Don’t—”
Too late.
The incubus glances their way, eyes flaring faint gold. His smile sharpens just a little as his gaze settles on Dean.
Something tugs.
Dean’s breath catches, warmth curling low in his chest, memories and wants bubbling up uninvited. The guy’s voice rolls out over the crowd—smooth, intimate, like he’s singing to Dean and no one else.
Dean sways. Smiles. Lets himself get closer to the stage.
“Oh, come on,” Sam mutters, hauling him back by the jacket. “Focus!”
Dean blinks, shakes his head like he just woke up. “Okay. Wow. Yeah. Nope. That’s… that’s a lot. I’m gonna— I’m gonna sit this one out.”
Sam stares. “You were under for maybe ten seconds.”
Dean rubs his neck. “Hey. The heart wants what it wants.”
“Dean.”
“What? I didn’t say I was proud!”
Sam, Last Man Standing
By the end of the night, half the club is enchanted—couples making out in corners, people crying with joy, strangers clinging to the sound of the incubus’s voice like it’s religion.
Dean is benched, wearing earplugs and glaring from the bar.
Sam, however, feels nothing.
No pull. No warmth. No whisper of temptation.
“Straight immunity has one upside, I guess,” Dean mutters.
Sam ignores him, watching the stage. “He’s escalating. Bigger show tomorrow night. Full concert.”
Dean groans. “Great. Magical Beyoncé.”
The One He Can’t Touch
The next night, the place is packed beyond capacity.
The incubus sings, voice wrapping around the crowd, feeding deep. The spell thickens, almost visible in the air.
Then—
Someone climbs onto the stage.
She’s not swaying. Not glassy-eyed. She’s furious.
“Shut it down,” she says into his mic, voice sharp enough to cut glass.
The music stutters to a stop.
The incubus smiles, slow and intrigued. “You’re not affected,” he murmurs. “That’s… rare.”
He steps closer, voice dropping into a purr, magic rolling off him in waves.
Nothing.
She doesn’t even blink.
“Nice try,” she says, and punches him square in the jaw.
The crowd gasps.
She doesn’t stop there—holy symbol flashing, sigils blazing as she knocks him flat, slaps iron cuffs on his wrists, and drags him bodily across the stage.
Sam’s jaw drops.
Dean cheers. “Marry me.”
Aftermath
Outside, the spell breaks. People blink, confused, embarrassed, alive.
The woman tosses the bound incubus into the back of a van marked with warding symbols.
“Natural immunity,” she explains, wiping blood from her knuckles. “Born that way. He picked the wrong city.”
Dean looks from her to the incubus. “You know, for the record, I still feel a little betrayed.”
She smirks. “Demons do that.”
As the van drives off, Sam exhales in relief.
Dean claps him on the shoulder. “Good job, Sammy. Saved the day.”
Sam raises an eyebrow. “You got seduced.”
Dean shrugs. “Yeah, but you stopped him. Team effort.”
He pauses, grins. “Also? Totally worth it.”
Sam groans. “I need a drink.”
Dean smiles. “You always do.”