Summary:With the newlywed hunting humans caught, you and Dean Winchester need to address the drunken vows that neither of you can remember. A/N: It’s taken a hoe (me, I’m the hoe) literally four years, BUT HERE IT IS
You traced the pink, puckered scar that dragged down your abdomen and across your hip. It was an angry reminder that not every monster was actually a monster. Some were … human.
Annie and Henry had done it before. Each year for their anniversary, in fact. Eight couples in eight days in different cities around the world for twenty years. It had been nothing more than bad luck (for them) that you’d been in Vegas for your first vacation in years, that Sam had happened to talk to someone from Mount Charleston, and that you and Dean had said your drunken vows.
“Does it still hurt?” His fingers reached out to trace the scar just behind yours. It had been three weeks before Dean allowed you to even leave the room without him and twice as long before you could leave the bunker. Even now you could see the guilt and worry in his eyes.
“Not physically.”
“I liked her too,” he said after a beat of silence. Annie’s face looming over you had been worse than the cut itself. She had been so kind, and you had liked her in spite of the red flags her eager invitation had raised. Dean took your left hand in his, playing with the ring you still wore.
He hadn’t taken his off either. Neither of you had brought it up in the months following your run in with the serial killers. It had seemed unimportant then, such a trivial detail after your near death and the (sober) night together that had followed it.
– – –
“So get–“ You ignored Sam’s voice and the opening of the door, hands running down Dean’s chest before slipping beneath his shirt. “I’ll, uhm, I mean, uh, bye,” Sam stammered, neither you nor Dean paying any attention.
The sudden slam of the door, however, had caused you both to laugh. “Do you think we should apologize?” you asked, breathless as Dean moved his lips away from yours to trace down your neck. He was careful to avoid the fresh stitches, but the adrenaline had yet to wear off and you weren’t sure it would hurt anyway.
“Sam should know the risks he takes walking in on newlyweds without knocking,” Dean answered, silencing you with a kiss before you could question him again. “Sam should know the risks he takes walking in on you and me without knocking.”
– – –
“Are you ready for dinner?” Dean asked. You couldn’t help the smile that lit your face when he asked. Once you had healed enough to freely leave the bunker – and then waited another two weeks for Dean to agree that you had healed enough to freely leave the bunker – he had begun taking you to dinner every week, even during weeks when you were hunting.
More often than not, Sam would sequester himself to the library while Dean laid out a blanket on the floor or a tablecloth over the kitchen table and treated you to the latest recipe he’d discovered. During hunts, he would whatever meal you’d been craving and bring a movie to the hotel room you all shared and tell Sam to eat in his bed instead of on the couch with the two of you.
Dean had been … cautious on those nights. Holding your hand or wrapping his arms around your shoulders, but never leaning in to kiss you unless you moved toward him first. Instead he would fill the night with questions and honesty, asking you about your family, about yourself, and answering whatever questions you posed in return. The dinners never ended in either of your beds – although plenty of other nights did – and he had made a habit of reminding you that he “truly cared about you” before he left you at the door to your bedroom and disappeared inside your own.
It had taken a few weeks before you realized what was happening. Dean was dating you. Proper courting, dating you. Although the rings had gone unacknowledged, something had undeniably shifted. You no longer had two separate lives, but an unconventionally and admittedly confusingly tangled single life. Apparently, without vocal acknowledgement, you had decided together that the easiest way to untangle the mess you’d found yourselves in was to continue forward with the, again unspoken, acknowledgement that neither of you regretted it.
You and Dean had started dating, without ever saying a word to each other.
“What’s on the menu tonight?” you asked, standing and allowing the flannel with missing buttons to cover your scar again.
“A picnic.”
– – –
Sounds native to the countryside that had become home filled the air as you watched the sun set, content to lean against the man next to you and the impala behind him in comfortable silence. It had been the perfect picnic. Dean had bought your favorite sandwiches. You weren’t sure how he had slipped out of the bunker without you noticing, but he driven to town to get them. He had even stopped by the liquor store.
You felt a soft kiss in your hair before he spoke, and you shifted in his hold until you could look into his eyes. “You know how much I care about you, don’t you?” You ignored the pang of uncertainty at his words. It was always care and never love.
“As much as I care about you.” The silence that followed your words served only to intensify the ache to admit it was more than caring, but you were patient. You always had been with Dean.
Dean had been so careful with you since Annie and Henry. He had carried you around the bunker the first few days, refusing to let you stand on your own. He always hovered near you on hunts, although he knew better than to stop you from fighting. He was simultaneously softer and harder when you trained.
But the change hadn’t only been physical. You might not have noticed if it had been. Dean was always protective, and even more so after an injury, but it was more than that. He would speak slowly, as if weighing what each word meant. He was slow to respond when you reached out to him and quick to ensure it was what you truly wanted. He fought against his instinct to close himself off and forced vulnerability between you. You could see the battle in his eyes each time you asked him about himself.
– – –
You were lying in the bed of the honeymoon suite, half dressed, as Dean tended to the cut that had begun bleeding again. “Do you really not remember anything about that night in Vegas?” you asked, struggling to distract yourself from the sharp sting of his fingers.
“Nothing …” You could tell he was far more focused on his fingers than your conversation, and you struggled to think of some way to force him into saying more as pain momentarily clouded the room. “Just waking up next to a beautiful woman I somehow tricked into my bed.” His voice was quiet, distracted, as if he hadn’t realized that he said anything out loud.
His words surprised you. Enough that you didn’t feel him pressing wrapping a bandage around your middle until it caught against your fresh stitches. You hissed, and his eyes jumped to yours, suddenly focused again. “Am I hurting you?” he asked. There was nothing in the way he looked at you that hinted at the admission he’d just made. That he felt he had tricked you into his bed; that it wasn’t something you had wanted as well. Maybe he hadn’t realized he’d spoken aloud.
– – –
His quiet voice tore you from your reminiscing, from your reminder that Dean had believed you’d woken up in Vegas regretting him. He spoke slowly, brow furrowed in concentration as if struggled to find the right words, or struggling to remember them. He wouldn’t meet your eyes. “After … everything that happened … waking up in Vegas … then nearly … nearly losing you … I wanted to be careful.” With this admission, something changed. Dean held you close to his side, and a hand rose to cup your cheek, his fingers playing along your temple as he continued. “There were so many questions, so many things we couldn’t talk about … but those things don’t really matter, and all that matters is that I love you and I need you to hear me say it.”
You didn’t hesitate, didn’t give him a moment to wonder if you had regretted him all those months before. “I love you too.”
Warnings: angst with some fluffy moments, ansty ending though
Word count: 1359
A/N: This is for the wonderful @avanatural and her 300 follower celebration! Congratulations again darling and thank you so much for hosting the fun event! I’m sorry if this is late I totally lost track of time. The prompt I chose is bolded within the fic. I hope y’all enjoy it!
Warnings: language, talk of drinking/alcohol, talk of nightmares and hell, PTSD symptoms, unintended violence
Word count: 2579
A/N: Okay, here’s chapter three. I hope y’all enjoy it! I had a lot of fun writing this one. It just seemed to come easily while writing :) Once again, thank you @avanatural (my amazing beta!) for reading this over!
As much as you’d hoped things would start to return to normal now that the ‘team’ had been reunited, it quickly became apparent that normal wasn’t a word you’d be able to use anymore. You had noticed almost right away that Sam was different, although you couldn’t quite put a finger on why. It was just something in him that you felt was off, completely unlike the man you’d known him to be only months prior. The Sam you knew was buried somewhere deep inside and the facade of what he thought was ‘normal’ was tenuous at best.
Dean had changed too, no matter how hard he tried to hide it. You hadn’t thought much of it at first; the fixation on finding the thing that pulled him out seemed rational. After all, that thing, that angel, had altered the course of his life. But it was so much more than that too. A toxic mix of self-hatred, guilt and shame churned just below the surface and Dean hid it the only way he knew how - with alcohol, effortless lies, and sarcastic wit.
“Dean, are you okay?” You question softly, your hand resting gently on his arm. His viridescent eyes bore into yours, emotion crackling in their depths.
“Of course Y/N. Why wouldn’t I be?” He asks, a humorous lit to his voice as if he had no clue why you’d be asking him that. He gives you that coy smile, the one that always manages to make you forget how to speak, leaving your mind blank.
You stumble over your words as you try to gather your thoughts. “Dean…you’ve been through a lot and I just want to-”
He interrupts you. “I told you. I don’t remember anything.” His words leave no room for further discussion as he speeds up his gait, leaving you struggling to keep up. He quickly crosses the small, dark motel parking lot, water splashing up from the pavement as he moves.
He roughly pushes open the door, slamming it back against the wall of the small, dingy motel room. Sam lifts his head up from where he’d been bent over his laptop, narrowly missing getting hit by the car keys Dean throws onto the table.
“What’s up with you?” Sam asks, his eyebrow quirked up in confusion at his brother’s behavior. Dean doesn’t reply, opting instead for grabbing the half-full bottle of whiskey next to the TV and taking it to the other twin bed. He takes a heavy swig from it as he settles against the cheap headboard. You let out a small sigh, taking a seat next to Sam at the table.
“Piss off Sam.” Dean snarls, taking another long pull from the bottle, grabbing the remote from the nightstand and turning on a random ball game. Sam gives you a look over the top of his laptop before he closes it and stands.
“I’m going to head out and grab some dinner. Anything you guys want?” Sam addresses both of you but his kaleidoscopic eyes are on you. You give him as much of a smile as you can muster, along with a soft shake of your head.
“Whatever man,” Dean says apathetically, his eyes not leaving the TV as he finishes off the bottle of alcohol. Sam gives him a long look before grabbing his jacket off the back of the cheap, wood panel chair and the keys to the Impala.
“I’ll be back in a bit.” Sam says soft enough so only you can hear him. “Try to talk to him. He always did open up better for you.”
You give him a subtle nod, your eyes already going back to settle on Dean. He isn’t looking at you, his eyes focused on the TV, and you can’t quite tell if he is ignoring you or is really interested in the baseball game.
“Never pegged you for a sports junkie.” You call out, catching Dean’s attention.
He gives you an overly exaggerated eye-roll as he reaches for a warm, unopened beer on the nightstand, cracking it open before returning his attention to the TV.
You let out a soft sigh as you stand from your spot at the table, slowly making your way to the unoccupied side of the bed Dean was lying on. You settle in against the headboard, your eyes on Dean, instead of the TV. You don’t miss the tension sitting in his shoulders or the bags under his eyes. The longer you look at him, the more you realize those months away had aged him. He no longer looked like the young, carefree hunter he once had been. This Dean looked like, well, like he had barely survived everything hell had to throw at him.
As much as you wanted to get Dean to talk about it, to help him find something that served as an outlet for those feelings he denied existed, you knew that sometimes, all you could give him was the quiet assurance of your presence.
You had had a naïve notion that finding the being that pulled Dean from hell would help relieve some of the tension hanging over the three of you, but it hadn’t. In fact, discovering the existence of angels had created more questions than it had answered.
“How can you just buy the crap he’s saying?” Dean raises his voice as his gaze shifts from Bobby, to Sam, to you. “C’mon, angels aren’t real.”
“Don’t you want to believe that all this, the years of hunting, of no recognition, of barely scraping by were for some bigger reason?” You question, your eyes searching his as you look for even a glimmer of understanding. The barely restrained anger continues to blaze behind his eyes, yet you continue. “Dean, for the first time in years, I feel that it’s not all meaningless. I have hope.” You pause, needing to take a deep breath to calm that rush of emotions rising in your chest. “Why don’t you?”
“Because hope doesn’t exist. It’s all a lie.” He gruffs out, his pessimistic and unbelieving tone fracturing your already fragile heart. “The only one you can ever trust is yourself.”
You reach out a hand to brush back the lock of hair that had fallen down over his forehead. “You know that isn’t true Dean. Somewhere in you lies that hope. All you have to do is trust a little.” You whisper, giving him a small smile before taking a step back. There was that part of you that knew, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that Dean believed.
And the longer it took for Dean to return to ‘normal’, the more frustrated Sam became. You could see it in the words that Sam could barely restrain himself from saying. It was in the skeptical set of his brow, every time he watched Dean down half a bottle of whiskey in a short amount of time. It was in that question that he’d been asking Dean on repeat since Dean had returned; “Are you okay?” And every time, Dean managed to talk his way out of Sam’s concern, brushing it off with a loud laugh or a sarcastic reply.
And one day, on the drive back to Bobby’s after a long hunt, it happened. Sam had had enough; he so clearly wanted his brother back and he was done waiting for Dean to return to who he’d been before hell.
“Dude, you look like shit,” Sam says, watching as Dean climbs behind the wheel of the Impala. Dean doesn’t respond; instead, he fires up the engine, revving it loudly a few times before easing it out of the parking spot in front of the motel. Dean doesn’t crank up the radio like he usually does once the blacktop is rolling smoothly underneath the rubber of the tires, a sign in itself that worries you.
“Must’ve been the nightmares. You were pretty loud last night.” Sam presses, turning his body towards Dean. You can see the tension set in Dean’s shoulders and you bite your lip, hoping that Sam doesn’t push it.
Dean doesn’t respond, instead he reaches forward and cranks on the radio, Foreigner blasting from the speakers loud enough to drown out any attempts at conversation. Sam is quiet for a beat or two before he leans forward and shuts it off.
“Dude, ignoring it isn’t going to help.” Sam says abruptly, his tone a bit more gruff than it had been a moment before.
Dean gives Sam a wordless look, his brow set in bored exasperation as his attention returns to the road. “I told you, I don’t remember anything.” He says firmly, although you don’t believe a word.
Sam doesn’t either apparently, as he continues. “Dean, that’s bullshit and you know it. Something happened down there, something you remember and don’t want to talk about.” He exclaims loudly, slamming a hand against the dash.
“Sam, that’s enough.” You say stiffly, noticing the way Dean was currently clenching his jaw, his hands tight around the steering wheel and his shoulders tight with tension. You want to reach forward and run a hand across his shoulders in an attempt to erase that rigidity. More than that, you want to be able to take him into your arms and erase the memories that have haunted him since returning.
Sam turns to look at you, eyes steely in a way you hadn’t seen before. “I’m not just going to leave it Y/N. He’s obviously hiding something and I’m not going to gullibly take it like you do.” He hisses at you, frustration leaking through his voice. You are taken back by his words, unsure of how to respond.
“Enough.” Dean snaps, causing both of you to look at him. “Both of you, shut up. I’ve had it. No more talking.” His words are harsh, but you know better than to push it right now. So you lean back against the leather seat and close your eyes, trying to keep the tears at bay. You aren’t that upset that he snapped at you, but rather his rejection of your attempt to help him, to protect him (even if it was from his own brother) hurt. It hurt, knowing that Dean was hurting and you couldn’t help him, that he wouldn’t let you help him. You tuck your legs up underneath you as you let out a small sigh, your gaze wandering to the window to look at the stars shining in the dark sky. The miles pass slowly as you desperately try to come up with some answer to the whole situation.
Dean pulls into Bobby’s yard an hour or so later, the headlights briefly illuminating the path to the house before the entire yard goes dark. The three of you remain quiet as bags are grabbed from the trunk and you wearily make your way to your rooms. You hesitate at the door of the room you and Dean share, unsure if he wants you in the room with him after what happened in the car.
“What are you waiting for sweetheart? Open the door.” Dean’s gruff, tired voice pulls you out of your indecision as you step forward, pushing the door of the darkened room open. You shuffle forward, stopping only long enough to drop your duffel on the floor before shedding your dirt-stained jeans and wrinkled top, exchanging them for the large T-shirt and flannel lying near your side of the bed.
You crawl into bed after that, too tired to care about finishing the rest of your nightly routine, opting instead for the warmth of the bed. The bedspread is pulled over you and tucked into your side, causing you to sleepily open your eyes.
“G’night sweetheart,” Dean says, his mesmerizing hazel eyes gentle, a sharp contrast to the empty, hard eyes that had stared back at you from the rearview mirror only hours before.
“G’night Dean.” You mumble, your body already half asleep as the exhaustion of the day wears down on you. You feel his hand come to gently cup your face, a thumb running slowly over your cheekbone as you fade away.
Movement in the bed next to you wakes you up in the dark, early hours of the morning. You blink a few times, trying to orient yourself when you feel Dean turn over roughly beside you, muttering a few incoherent words as he does. “Dean…Dean.” You call, placing a gentle hand on his shoulder, squeezing lightly, in an attempt to wake him up.
Before you can even register what’s happening, Dean is on top of you, his solid weight pressing you deep into the mattress, an arm heavy against your throat, cutting off the air to your lungs. You try to push him off, try to tell him to stop, but all you can do is flail your arms about helplessly; the lack of air causing your vision to become fuzzy. You see, through the growing haze coming over vision, as the heavy fog of his nightmare lifts, the realization of what he’s doing reaches his eyes before he scrambles off of you.
You pull yourself up into a sitting position, coughing occasionally as you regain your breath. When you can breathe normally again, you scan the room looking for Dean. You find him standing stock-still near the door, about as far away from the bed as he could be while still being in the room.
You climb out of bed, wrapping Dean’s flannel, the one you’d been sleeping in since he ‘died’, tighter around yourself as you slowly walk up to him. “Dean?” You ask, tentatively reaching out a hand towards his arm. He jerks backward before you can touch him.
“Don’t.” His voice is thick, almost gravelly as his gaze meets yours. His emerald eyes are swirling with a wild combination of emotions, of which the easiest to identify is guilt. A heavy ache settles in your chest as you realize that Dean was already blaming himself for what happened.
“Dean, this wasn’t your fault.” You say, your tone low, but firm in an attempt to make him understand. “You were having a nightmare. I shouldn’t have tried to-”
He cuts you off almost immediately. “Stop. I almost choked you to death and you’re blaming yourself? I almost killed you, one of the only truly good things in my life.” His voice is dark in a way you thought he reserved solely for talking of the repulsive creatures you hunted. You realize with a start that he didn’t think himself any better than those monsters.
“I need some air.” He spits out as he turns and practically flees from the bedroom, leaving you standing by yourself in the dark. You hear the loud purr of an engine down in the yard a few moments later, an engine you know could only belong to Baby and you reluctantly climb into bed, intent on waiting up for him until he returns.
You lay alone for hours, straining to hear the warm chug of a downshifting engine, marking his return to the shabby farmhouse. It never comes. Instead, you spend the rest of the night in bed, surrounded by his smell, but unable to feel him. It serves as a cruel reminder to only a few short weeks ago when you’d thought that the last physical thing you’d have to remind you of Dean was the scent that lingered on his pillow.
Summary:Dean x Reader - Neighbours AU - Dean and the reader live next door to each other and can’t stand each other. Will things change once circumstances bring this bartender and businessman duo closer together?
Triggers:Talk of kidnapping, injuries, hospitals
Y/N = Your name | Y/L/N = Your last name | Y/E/C = Your eye colour | Y/H/C = Your hair colour
Dean The incessant beeping pulled Dean back out of the darkness that had temporarily swallowed him. Sending shocks of dull pain, diluted by annoyance, through his system as he kept his eyes shut, trying to get his bearings.
How long had he been out?
What had happened after the click of the gun he’d been sure would end his life? He thought he remembered the cops.. He was sure that he’d felt the twinge of relief of (Y/N) being safe. Had he imagined it all?
The last thing he remembered was… What was it?
He remembered the sounds of paramedics, urging him to respond to them. And (Y/N), he remembered his beautiful girl next door. She’d been crying. He’d tried to… Had he told her how he felt? He thoughthe did, though he couldn’t be sure if it wasn’t just all a dream concocted by his mind once he fell unconscious. The final confessions of a doomed man.
Still, he was sure he heard her, saw her. In the ambulance? Had he beenin an ambulance? Damn it, his mind was jumbled and slow and he had to fight the urge to not scream in frustration. Everything was hazy… Blurry.
It was all snapshots, but nothing fit together right. The only clear spot was her. His sunshine girl.
Where everything else was out of focus, she was crystal clear. The tears that had stained her beautiful (Y/E/C) eyes and the slight tremble to her lips as she tried to hold back her sobs. Her small voice begging him to be ok, begging for forgiveness for crimes that weren’t hers to carry. Her fragile-but-strong shoulders had been shaking under the weight of those damn unearned chains and shackles, and Dean hadn’t been able to push them away or carry them for her.
Though, even if those moments with her were clear. They were all still just as jumbled together as everything else. As if the heavy hit to his head had rearranged the fragmented memories from the hellish night.
Wrestling with his own memories, Dean frowned at the constant beeping and the voices arguing quietly in the background. It was all too loud, too much. He couldn’t think straight with all that noise.
Gritting his teeth in preparation for the light he could somehow sense through his shut eyelids, Dean opened his eyes carefully. Looking out through the veils of his eyelashes at first, before the sight in front of him made him open them fully.
(Y/N),thank god…
She wasn’t looking his way, her jaw set with that cute stubborn expression she’d wear to show whomever got in her way that she wasn’t budging. And, as Dean finally managed to blink away the rest of the fog over his eyes, the target of her stubborn rage and whispered arguments came into view. At first, Dean had to fight the bile rising in his throat when he saw the crisp uniform of the Detective, however, as his features came fully into view, the panic that was slowly building vanished with a short push of air through pursed lips. Detective Davies, not Ketch.
Thank god, she was safe. He hadn’t just dreamt it all up.
“You heard the doctor Ms. (Y/L/N), Mr. Winchester will be fine. His ribs are mainly bruised with just one hairline fracture. The bullet only strayed him and the injury to his head wasn’t serious either. At most he might be suffering from a concussion. He’ll be cleared to return home after one night under observation…” Mick Davies’ voice was exasperated as he kept his words soft and barely even audible in the otherwise quiet room.
“Itoldyou. I’m not going anywhere until Dean wakes up,” (Y/N) whisper-yelled at Detective Douchebag as she crossed her arms defensively over her chest as if physically restraining herself.
“I’m sorry Ms. (Y/L/N), but we need you to…”
The nearly mechanic way the words left Mick Davies told Dean that it wasn’t the first time he’d parroted those exact words. And by the exhausted look in his eyes when she cut him off with another stubborn shake of her head, it wasn’t the first time the girl from apartment 42 had refused to listen either.
“Nodetective. I am not going anywhere. He was shot trying to save me after Brian tried to kill him. And then one of your own, Ketch, tried to finish the job!” Though whispering, it was clear to Dean that she was lacing each word with as much vitriol as she could. Using them as weapons to keep the detective at bay and shut him up.
Yet as quick as the anger and spite had shown up in her voice, it bled away with a single relieved sob as her eyes strayed to Dean on the bed. Eyes widening as they met with his once she realised he was awake.
“Thank God… Dean,”
Her stiff hold crumbled away as she hurried to his side. Unshed tears veiling (Y/E/C) eyes; she slid into the seat next to what Dean now realised was his hospital bed. Though he couldn’t take his eyes off of her for long enough to check the rest of his surroundings.
Reaching out a weak, heavy hand, Dean tried to lift it up to wipe at the tears staining her beautiful, tired eyes. Yet, before he could reach her, (Y/N)’s smaller hand wrapped around his and gently placed it back on the bed.
“How do you feel? The doctor said you were incredibly lucky. The bullet only…” She started, ready to parrot the same diagnosis that Dean had heard the detective talk about only moments earlier as he just smiled at her.
Squeezing her hand softly, he cut off her talk before she started rambling. He had so much he wanted to tell her… He wanted to reassure her he was fine. He wanted to finally fully let her know how he felt. Hell, he needed to make sure she was uninjured… Yet, as he opened his mouth, the only thing that truly mattered ended up spilling out past dry lips.
“You’re safe,” Dean sighed in relief as he let his thumb run along the back of her hand, revelling in the feel of her skin under his fingers. She was warm, safe, alive… She was there. Away from Brian, and the whole nightmare. Thank god.
“I’m so sorry Dean, I…” Her soft voice trembled and broke over the words as she once more tried to apologise for sins that weren’t hers to carry or ask forgiveness for. Shaking his head softly, Dean bit the inside of his cheek to keep from groaning in pain as his brain still rattled painfully in his skull from every small move he made.
“Don’t (Y/N). It’s not your fault… Please don’t,” Cutting off her words, Dean pulled softly at her hand, making her lean in closer to him as he gently removed his fingers from hers to move a few stray hairs out of her face and softly swipe his thumb against the wetness on her cheek.
“Never apologise. This isn’t on you. Ok?” He whispered, as his weak arm lost what little strength it had and fell back on the bed as his fingertips reached for hers.
“Ok…” Finding his hand again, his girl next door gently squeezed his hand with a small nod as she took a few steadying breaths and wiped away the rest of her tears with the sleeve of her jacket.
“So, what happened?” Throwing her a small, tired smile, Dean kept his eyes on his sunshine girl as he raised his voice enough to be sure the detective could hear him too. Finally giving fully up on trying to understand his own fragmented memories.
Seeing the question as his cue to speak up, Mick Davies stepped closer to the bed, though still keeping himself at a professional distance. Close enough to be seen and heard, but not close enough to disturb the fragile calm that had fallen over the hospital room as (Y/N) held onto Dean’s hand with a small, tired smile.
“When we arrived at the lakehouse, Mr. Lackland was trying to restrain Ms. (Y/L/N) and Arthur… Mr. Ketch had you handcuffed on the floor,” Luckily Detective Davies started at the beginning. Saving Dean from having to ask him to go back to when his memories grew hazy and soft at the edges from the blow to the head and lack of oxygen in his lungs.
“We were very lucky. If we’d arrived a moment later, or if Mr. Ketch hadn’t valued his own life above anything else… When we called for them to put their weapons down, they both did so without a fight,” The detective continued, the unspoken ‘what ifs’ clear in his tone as Dean internally shuddered at the thought of a gun fight breaking out in the cabin and (Y/N) getting caught in the crossfire.
Yeah…
They’d been lucky. Lucky that she hadn’t gotten hurt. Lucky that the police showed up when they did. Hell, they’d been lucky the police showed up at all. Considering they barely even saw Brian as a threat.
Gritting his teeth to keep the anger that was slowly bubbling up from under the surface from rising, Dean cleared his throat as he forced himself to pull his eyes off of the girl from apartment 42 to look at the detective. The whole incompetent police force had nearly ended up getting him killed and her… Fuck, something so much worse almost happened to her.
“Why?” Dean tried to keep the anger and vitriol out of his voice as he shot the question at the uniformed man. Clipping it down to only the basest syllable in fear that if he kept speaking, he’d start screaming.
“I… What do you mean?” Mick Davies seemed genuinely confused as his eyes went from Dean and over to the tired woman, the victim, in the chair next to him. As if he could find the rest of Dean’s question hiding somewhere else in the sterile hospital room.
“Why did you even come? I thought you said you didn’t believe that Brian was anywhere near the lakehouse?” Giving up on hiding his anger, he spat the questions at the detective, his hand gently squeezing (Y/N)’s as he spoke. As if to reassure himself she was really there and that this wasn’t some dream he’d concocted in his final moments on earth.
“Ms. (Y/L/N)’s lawyer, your brother, called. He had been unable to get through to you. At first the phone rang, but when he tried again and again, it kept going to voicemail. So… He contacted us fearing the worst. In our conversation with him, some of the details he mentioned about the officer he had spoken to earlier in the day led us to look into Arthur Ketch. Only to discover he had been missing for hours,”
The near automatic drone of the detective’s voice hinted at practised and rehearsed words he’d probably already shared with the girl from apartment 42 earlier while Dean was still unconscious. Yet, to him it all just sounded like excuses. As if the uniformed man was rambling, looking for some way to excuse his own failures.
Of course, it was Sammy.
In this whole fucked up situation, the only person they could have counted on was Sam. He had a good head on his shoulders. And once more, he’d managed to save the day.
“Mr. Winch… I mean, Sam Winchester then pushed us to bring a few officers out to the lakehouse to check on you, having a hunch regarding Arthur Ketch. Which was verified when we realised that the earlier sightings and reports of Brian in town had been filed by Ketch himself,” Detective Davies continued his rehearsed speech, choosing to ignore the burning look Dean threw his way as he focused on the wall over his head instead.
The detective’s earlier words echoed in the back of Dean’s mind, giving him pause. It all made sense now. Why Davies had been so sure Brian was nowhere near the cabin when he called them. Ketch had filed false reports spotting Brian in town to throw them off the scent and buy them a few more hours. That bastard had played the whole system.
All for his sadistic little plan.
“So when you realised…” Dean pushed when he noticed that Davies had stopped speaking, waiting for some form of input from him.
“Yes, when we then realised that Brian could be on his way to your location, we mobilised a full team. Plus we got another team working on finding out everything we can about Mr. Ketch as well. The results so far have been… Troubling,” Davies picked up where he left off with a curt nod. His lips pursing and brow furrowing at the idea of one of their own pulling one over on them.
“Hedid talk about how he’d been running circles around you guys this whole time,” Dean hadn’t meant for the words to make the detective flinch. Yet, as he saw Mick Davies’ otherwise tense and strict hold shift uncomfortably, he found some twisted pleasure in putting the detective back in his place. This was all their fault.
Opening his mouth to argue against Dean’s words, the detective seemed to think better of it as he shook his head with a tired, defeated sigh. His shoulders falling as he seemed less like an officer standing at parade rest, and more like just a man.
“Unfortunately… It also seems he’s been using government databases to feed Brian information. Much of what Mr. Lackland learned about Ms. (Y/L/N)… About both of you, was information given to him by Mr. Arthur Ketch. I’m sorry to say that he was telling the truth, he has been hindering this investigation from day one,” Davies finally said with a sigh. Admitting to their failures, even though he still put all the blame on the monster in their midst.
“Stop calling him that,” Before Davies could continue his robotic retelling, a small voice spoke up from next to Dean. (Y/N)’s voice was low and barely audible. But in the quiet of the hospital room, with only the machines attached to Dean’s body whirring and beeping away, her words were still clearly audible to both of the men in the room.
For a beat, the room fell silent as the detective tried to wrap his head around her words. His lips parting and closing around nothing as he tried to find some fault in his own by-the-book retelling of the events.
“Stop calling that monster Mr. Ketch. He is one of yours! A detective,” (Y/N)’s voice was stronger this time around, growing in volume as (Y/H/C) hair whipped around her when she turned to throw the words directly at the detective. Making him once more frown. Though not from guilt, Dean noted, but rather confusion.
“No Mr… Officer Ketch was never a detective. It is true that he was aiming to become one. He had recently passed the exam, but… Some of his previous arrests were… Dubious. So, he was under heavy review,” The detective picked his words carefully. Rolling them around in his mouth before delivering each and every carefully selected word as he paused between statements.
In the hospital bed, Dean froze for a second as the realisation hit him, before slowly, painstakingly so, sitting up a little more in the bed. Gritting his teeth against the dull pain that was once again returning now that whatever painkillers they’d pumped him full of were slowly waning.
Ketch’swhole plan, the plan that had hinged on him rising through the ranks, had failed from the start. Even if something had happened to (Y/N) that night, it wouldn’t have been Ketch that got the case. Damn it, the bastard wasn’t just sadistic, he was delusional. Just like his puppet, Brian. Both of them had been living out their own sick, twisted play. And (Y/N) had been cast as the unwilling lead. By two delusional bastards.
Looking back up, Dean realised the room had grown quiet again as his eyes went from (Y/N)’s fiery ones and over to the confused detective looking at them both for clarification. But the girl from apartment 42 kept her lips firmly together, pursed in annoyance and anger as she refused to meet the detective’s eye. Keeping herself busy by letting fidgeting hands straighten out Dean’s sheets and fussing over him whenever he grimaced uncontrollably from a new burst of dull pain. The fire in her eyes softened as she busied herself fixing his pillows to try and make him more comfortable.
“He told us he was. He said that when he planned this whole thing back a year ago. He had Brian wait because he needed a promotion. That he had planned it all out so he would lead the investigation if (Y/N) was… If I hadn’t been there that first night,” Dean finally clarified as he reached for her hand. Unwilling to talk about what could have happened that night if he hadn’t been around and if she hadn’t slept on his couch instead of going back to apartment 42.
“Well, he had been promoted within the ranks of officers, but not to the level where he’d lead a missing persons case,” Davies hesitated over his words as he took a small notepad out of his jacket pocket. Jotting something down as he mulled Dean’s words over. For a second the only sound in the room was pen against paper as he quickly wrote down the details, before shutting the notebook with an audible snap and placing it back in his jacket.
“We still have a lot to investigate. And I can’t do anything but apologise for the fact that our operation was compromised the way it was, but… We have them both in custody. And though we need to wait for the results of the investigation and the subsequent court proceedings, I am confident they’ll both be going away for a very long time,” He finally continued, summing up the short retelling of events with words that portrayed the anger simmering right under the surface in the detective as well.
Though the words were standard and basic, devoid of any emotion, Dean could tell… Arthur Ketch had betrayed his comrades at the police station. And they weren’t going to let that go.
“I hope they rot in jail,” (Y/N) spat, her eyes still only on Dean as she carefully brushed some hair out of his face before curling her trembling fingers into a tight fist. She was trying so hard to be strong. And it broke Dean’s heart. Lifting his hand, he gently pried the fingers loose, holding her small hand in his own as he kept his eyes on hers, even when the detective continued speaking.
“We have them both on attempted murder charges, as well as attempted kidnapping, bodily harm… The list goes on and on. Not to mention that Officer Ketch has additional charges for hindering the investigation, aiding and abetting a criminal, and the theft of a standard issue firearm, since both guns found at the scene were police issued weapons,” The detective’s words were nothing but facts, but they held a promise. To both the police itself, and to the girl from apartment 42, that he would do everything in his power to lock them up and throw away the key.
Making a show out of looking at his wrist watch, the detective released a tired sigh as he looked out the hospital window at the sun that was slowly rising over the horizon and painting the sky in the first few soft shades of pink.
“Now, we’ll need…” He started, but before he could finish his sentence he was cut down by the door nearly hitting the wall as it was pushed open. The end of his sentence, fully drowned out by the redhead in the doorway as she let out a relieved sob from seeing her best friend safe and sound.
“(Y/N)!” Charlie rushed into the room along with Gabriel, both of them ignoring the detective as they nearly threw themselves at the girl from apartment 42. Fuzzing over her as they looked for any signs of injuries on their best friend.
Looking at the scene with a tired smile, Dean let his eyes drift towards the door to give them some semblance of privacy as his eyes met a frazzled Sam’s. Throwing his worried brother a lopsided grin, he chuckled weakly at the tried and tested eye roll he got in return as his little brother rushed to his side.
“Sorry I didn’t answer your call, I was kinda… Tied up,” Dean joked. Though, by the look in Sam’s eyes, his attempt at humour fell flat as his brother just squared his jaw and shook his head. Sending shaggy brown hair flying back and forth. His normally perfectly styled appearance, which came with the job, all out of place as the signs of Sammy’s night were written clearly on his body. From the wrinkled mess of a shirt to the way his hair fell haphazardly around his face after clearly having spent the better part of the night pulling at it in worry.
“Jerk…” Sam just huffed in return, his voice tired and worried as he took in the machines surrounding his brother.
“What did the…” Before Sam could ask any more questions, the detective cleared his throat and nodded towards the door.
“I’ll give you all a…” Shutting his mouth as Charlie scoffed at him, he just nodded curtly before making his way to the door to give them all a moment.
Looking around the room, at the small group of friends, family and strangers that had all been pulled together by the hellish events, Dean finally felt himself fully relax.
Summary: Dean x Reader - Neighbours AU - Dean and the reader live next door to each other and can’t stand each other. Will things change once circumstances bring this bartender and businessman duo closer together?
Triggers: Talk of kidnapping, injuries, hospitals
Y/N = Your name | Y/L/N = Your last name | Y/E/C = Your eye colour | Y/H/C = Your hair colour
A/N: We’re closing in on the end now! Just two more chapters and an epilogue left to wrap it all up.
A/N 2: In this chapter, some of Dean’s “internal monologue” have been formatted in green bold italics.
ReaderAs Sam’s whispered words to his brother were being drowned out by Charlie’s panicked voice, you gently herded your two best friends out of the room. Choosing to talk to them in the busy hospital hallway instead so that Dean could have some time with his brother, without Sam having to worry about you as well.
He needed some time to just be a brother, not your lawyer.
Yet, even in the busy hallway, you couldn’t take your eyes off Dean through the half open door. Your friends’ worried words were coming through muted in your mind as you wrapped your arms around yourself, trying to keep yourself from rushing back to the man in apartment 43’s side when his green eyes met yours.
“I was soscared (Y/N)… When Sam contacted me I thought…” Charlie’s trembling voice broke through your muted pain as you pulled your eyes off of your superhero next door to look at your best friends.
“I’m fine, I was… Dean protected me. I’m not going to lie, it was hell, but Dean was there,” You sighed as you threw your friends a small smile, your eyes flitting over to where Dean was still watching you before biting your lip and forcing your attention back onto your worried friends.
“And thank god for that,” Gabe sighed as he wrapped an arm around your shoulder. Pulling you close into a small hug as you let out a breath you hadn’t even noticed you’d been holding.
You were back home, and your friends were safe. It still hadn’t fully sunk in, but the feel of your oldest friend’s strong arm wrapping you up in a hug helped solidify that it wasn’t just all some hopeful dream. The men that had made your life hell, and that had terrorised the people close to you, were caught. They couldn’t hurt you anymore. They couldn’t hurt your best friends, or Dean…
“Everything… It all just happened so fast, yet it felt like days,” You disguised your small sob as a cough to clear your throat, not wanting to worry your friends any more than they already were. Blinking away traitorous tears, you lifted your eyes to meet theirs. Your own hands dug into your upper arms as you held yourself together. And, as more words left you, you slowly but surely started retelling the events to your two best friends.
The words came out staggered as you stopped to hug Charlie once her eyes started tearing up again at your words or leaned against Gabe as you watched him struggle to breathe from the horrific events. It hurt to talk about it, but you had to.
You would have to recount those events over and over again now. To police officers, to friends and family… To a court, somewhere down the line. So you wanted them to at least hear it from you first. Instead of the robotic retelling of events that the police would offer up or the sensationalised version the media would tell if they got a hold of the information.
Which you had no doubt they would.
Hell, even as you kept speaking, telling the story on autopilot, your mind was still racing trying to catch up with everything that happened. Your eyes moving off of your friends and towards Dean in the other room whenever it became too hard to breathe through the horrible memories that clung to your heart and chest. The little part of your mind that kept telling you that you were still in that cabin, in the middle of the nightmare, clinging on stubbornly even in the bright synthetic lights of the hospital hallway.
“So, the police came and I… I couldn’t just leave Dean. I’m not hurt, Charlie. I promise. I barely have a scratch on me,” You finally said with a sigh as your friends kept fuzzing over you. Giving them a tired smile as they both cast dubious glances in your direction.
You knew you looked like hell, but you were telling the truth. Dean had acted like the shield you hadn’t wanted him to ever be. Which only added to your guilt as you blinked back tears and hugged yourself tighter, looking over at Dean once more.
Everytime you glanced over, you were met with the warm, worried green eyes of the man from apartment 43. As if he hadn’t taken his eyes off you the whole time, even as his brother kept talking to him.
Noticing where you were looking and the little furrow in your brow, Gabriel gently pulled you closer to his side and placed a soft kiss on the crown of your hair as he gave you another one armed hug. Squeezing you closer against his side and temporarily blocking you from seeing your saviour.
“Let’s go get a coffee? Give them some time?” The question left your best friend as a breath of warm air into your hair as you simply nodded. Letting your two friends lead you down the hallway of the hospital and away from Dean.
He needed time with his brother. And, as long as you were standing in the hallway looking over at him every few minutes, with pain and worry staining your eyes, he wouldn’t be able to focus.
“I’ve heard horrible things about the coffee here. You might have to check yourself in to get your stomach pumped after drinking it,” Gabriel’s voice echoed off the hospital walls with strained, fake enthusiasm as he gently pushed you forward down the hallway. In an attempt at lifting the heavy mood with a joke as you walked down the sterile hallways side by side, supported on each side by your best friends. But his normally jovial tone was lacking. Leaving the joke hanging awkwardly between the three of you as you forced a tired smile out.
“If I end up hospitalised then you’retelling Davies that I can’t come down to give my statement,” You shot back, grateful for the attempt at normality, no matter how forced and strained it was, as your shoulders finally relaxed and your hands dropped from your bruising hold on yourself.
“Happily. I’d love to piss that bastard off,” Gabe shot back, sounding genuinely excited at the prospect.
—
The coffee was awful.
To the point where you found yourself wondering where the hospital disposed of toxic waste, so you could wash that swill down the drain along with it. But it was at least luke warm and caffeinated, which your tired and freezing body sorely needed. Though the gentle jabs and arguments between your friends as they tried to pretend things were normal for your sake warmed you more than any cup of coffee could.
“Iswearhe was flirting with me,” Gabriel shot back at Charlie’s incredulous laugh after he got done retelling his time spent pranking the police officers charged with watching over him. Fully believing he was being straight up courted, like he was part of some Victorian era day time drama, by the older officer who’s been his main security for the last few days.
“I don’t think him following you everywhere was him flirting, Gabe. It was his job,” Charlie laughed as she rolled her eyes at your trickster of a friend’s wide eyed look. Though by the way she’d shyly blushed when she’d talked about Dorothy, the junior agent working alongside Jody Mills to watch over her, she herself had gotten some flirting in. And a new job, apparently, as the Cyber Crime Unit seemed very interested in her skills.
“You didn’t see his eyes. They were lustful, I swear. And the way he asked me if I liked sugar in my coffee? With a soft southern drawl? That man wanted some of this. Not that I blame him, I mean… Come on,” Gabe’s eyebrows lifted along with his trademark smirk as he let his hands gestured to his own body. Wiggling said eyebrows a little more when he noticed he’d managed to tease a soft laugh out of you.
“Soft southern drawl? Sounds more like you’rethe one with the crush,” You quipped as you grimaced around another sip of that awful hospital coffee.
“Oh, you know me babe. I flirt with everyone,” Gabriel shrugged, shiteating grin solidly in place as you rolled your eyes at him. Your very own Casanova had probably made both of the poor officers watching over him work extra hard for their money. At least based on the pranks he’d told you about. And you were sure that wasn’t all he’d done. Gabriel didn’t play well with others. At least not with people tasked to make sure he didn’t get himself into trouble. Not when trouble was his favourite thing to get into.
“Tell me his name and I’ll try to get you his number,” You chuckled as you crushed the empty paper cup in your hand. Lifting your eyes you tried to find any clocks on the wall, for some indication of how much time had passed. Before giving up and lifting yourself out of the uncomfortable plastic seat in the hospital cafeteria. Even if Dean was still busy talking to Sam, you just wanted to seehim.
While your best friends had done their best to make you feel as if life was back to normal, and not the damned nightmare that it all truly was, you still hadn’t managed to fully fall back into the lighthearted routine. Your mind and heart was stuck, somewhere down the hospital hallways. Settled in next to a hospital bed, with Dean, as you could;’t help but wish you were still by his side.
You wouldn’t bother him, but you just… You needed to see him. To make sure those green eyes were still bright and open. And not silently closed, bruised and bloodied, like they had remained the whole awful drive to the hospital in the back of the ambulance.
Yet, before you could push yourself away from the table and go back to him, a hand on your shoulder made you flinch. Your body freezing in fear as the words you’d been wanting to say to your friends died in your throat. Though you knew the hospital was safe, your mind was still stuck in fight or flight. And the small, harmless action was enough to send your heart into your throat as images of Ketch and Brian flashed in front of your eyes.
Turning your face towards the owner of the big hand on your shoulder, you looked at him wide eyed for a split second. Before finally letting out a shaky breath as you came face to face with Detective Mick Davies. His eyes softened apologetically as he removed his hand from your shoulder and took a step back to give you space.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to frighten you…” Davies dragged out the final words as he looked from you to your friends and back down at his wrist watch. Seemingly hesitating over his next words before steeling himself and refocusing his attention on you again.
“I just wanted to see if you are ready to come down to the station now Ms. (Y/L/N)? Now that Mr. Winchester is awake and…” The detective continued, keeping his eyes on you as he gestured towards the cafeteria exit.
“GOD! Just let her breathe damn it!” Charlie’s loud voice echoed in the cafeteria, still mainly empty this early in the morning, as she cut off the detective and lifted herself up out of her own seat. Fiery red hair whipping around her as she glared at the detective and made her way around the table to stand in front of you like a protective mama bear.
“She’s been through enough. And who are you to rush her? You guys took your sweet time helping,” Your best friend continued, not lowering her volume at all, even as the few people coming in for their morning coffees turned to look your way.
Placing your hand softly on Charlie’s arm, you gently stopped your fiery best friend from verbally pummeling the detective any further with a small shake of your head. Sending her a grateful smile as she opened her mouth to argue before sighing in defeat when she read the pleading look in your eyes. You really didn’t want to have to have your best friends end up in cuffs for assaulting an officer on top of everything else you’d had to deal with.
“It’s alright… Just, can I go and talk to Dean first? Just for a moment?” You finally asked the detective. Turning your head to face him once you were sure your best friend wouldn’t resort to actual violence against the uniformed man.
For a second, it looked like Detective Davies would say no. His brow knitted and eyes hesitant as his gaze dropped from yours to once again look at his wristwatch. But, with another tired sight and a hand pinching the bridge of his nose, he finally nodded.
—
“Do you want us to come in with you?” Charlie whispered as you got closer to Dean’s hospital room and your steps slowed down to a crawl.
Your little train of followers probably looked strange to the staff and other patients of the hospital. With you in the lead, looking like you’d been through hell.. Which, well, you kind of had. Followed by Charlie and Gabe, who refused to let go of you, yet stayed half a step behind to block Davies’ view of you. As the uniformed detective was left to follow a few steps behind. While your two best friends thoroughly ignored him.
Yet, though you wanted to get away from the curious looks of the rest of the hospital. You couldn’t help but slow down when you were getting closer to Dean’s room. The guilt that still weighed heavily in the pit of your stomach slowing your steps as your hands trembled lightly. You needed to see him, and though you knew he didn’t blame you, your mind was still twisting your guilt into ugly, vicious images of the Winchester brothers both throwing you accusatory looks when you came back into the hospital room.
After all, you were just a neighbour. A former stranger that Dean Winchester had decided to help out on a whim. And you’d nearly gotten him killed.
Chewing on your bottom lip you still shook your head in response to Charlie’s question. Eyes not leaving the door down the hallway that hid Dean from you as you forced your feet to listen to you and continued the rest of the way towards the hospital room.
“No… I need to talk to him alone,” You said, your attempt at a smile twisting into a soft frown as you let your eyes drop to your hands. The guilt painted them blood red in your mind’s eye as you curled your fingers into soft fists in a foolish attempt to hide how bloodied they were from yourself, and from your friends. Even though you knew they saw nothing but the trembling hands of their broken best friend.
“Are you sure? We don’t mind,” Gabriel pushed as his eyes focused on your shaking hands. Gently prying them open before lifting his hands to turn you to face him instead of the half open door where Dean was that you had finally come to a full stop in front of.
“I’m sure. It’s just… I feel so damnguilty. It’s my fault he’s…” You sighed, trying to shake your head. But, before you could complete your sentence, or the shake of your head, both were cut out as Gabriel lifted a hand to place it over your mouth. Muffling your words just as Charlie spoke up, a little too loudly for the quiet hospital hallway.
“No! Nope, you don’t get to say that. No way,” She half-shouted, earning her a few dirty looks from a nearby nurse as you tried to remove Gabriel’s hand over your mouth to tell her to quiet it down. And failing miserably as your best friends ganged up on you.
The damned dynamic duo; God, you loved them.
“You did not do anything wrong (Y/N). Those two monsters did that to him, to you. So you don’t get to feel guilty. You get to feel angry. And you better embrace it. Be angry at them. Be pissedoff. And make the world listen. Ok?” Charlie pushed, though she thankfully lowered her voice to a quiet hiss as her eyes burned into you. Making sure you heard every single word.
You were only able to nod as Gabe’s hand was still stopping you from speaking as you cast a glance towards the door you’d come to a full stop in front of. As your eyes found the room behind the half closed door, they were met with Dean’s amused, if not a bit confused, smile from the inside.
Great.
He’d seen your friends gang up on you. Though, considering everything else he’d seen of the messy, broken and downright awful thing you called your life… Seeing you being physically silenced by your two best friends was probably just a nice change of pace for the man from apartment 43.
“Good, now get your cute butt in there and talk to Mr. Greek-God-Next-Door and we’ll wait out here for you. We’re coming with you to the station to make sure the police behave. If they don’t I’ll sic Char on ‘em,” Taking his hand off your mouth Gabe whispered the words into your ear before ending them in a soft kiss to your temple as he stepped back and let you go with a small smile.
Returning the smile and mouthing a quiet ‘Thank you’ to both of your friends, you took a deep breath before opening the door to Dean’s hospital room fully. Sending a tired smile Sam’s way as you watched him lift his tall body out of the chair by his brother’s bedside.
Stopping right inside the door, you watched as the younger Winchester walked over to you. Placing a large warm hand on your shoulder with a soft pat, as if he was tagging you in, before taking the last few steps over to the door and slipping out of it. Closing it softly behind him just as he turned towards the Detective that your two best friends were doing their utmost to completely ignore.
Taking a shaky breath, you only made it two steps further into the room before you stopped, frozen. Looking back down at your trembling hands as you wet chapped lips, trying to find something to say.
“Hi,” The shaky greeting was all that left you, as your eyes looked up towards him through your lashes.
—
DeanDean couldn’t focus on Sam’s words. At least when (Y/N) was still in the hospital room, he’d been able to feign focus. But as she’d left to give him some privacy, he’d fully shut out Sam’s worried words as his eyes stayed on her fragile body in the hallway.
The way she was hugging herself under the artificial lights breaking his heart as he longed to just wrap her up in his arms. Yet, he’d stayed put. Feeling his heart soar whenever she caught him staring, and longing to trace her bottom lip with his thumb to stop her from chewing on it.
His eyes stayed on her until she walked off down the hallway with her friends. And it took everything he had in him to not get out of bed to follow her as illogical panic gripped his heart. She was safe. There were no more monsters hiding in the shadows. Yet, even as he tried to tell himself that, he couldn’t make himself believe it. Somehow that ancient, protective part of him just refused to see it.
Dean just wanted to be by her side, to keep her safe.
But, instead he stayed; trapped in his hospital bed. And as the last few strands of her hair disappeared out of view, he let out a tired sigh as his eyes fell to his bedsheets. He had so much he wanted to tell her, but everything was still just too hectic. Too crazy.
“Are you sure you’re fine?” Sam’s voice finally dragged Dean’s mind back into the hospital room while his heart was still busy following (Y/N) down the hall. Lifting his head, he turned it as gingerly as he could, to stop the fresh shots of dull pain from shooting up his spine and into his brain, to look at his little brother. Only to be met with equal parts annoyance and worry in his hazel eyes.
“I’m fine Sammy. Just a bit roughed up. As I said, I’ll be out of here by tomorrow, at the latest,” Dean shot back dismissively. Truth was, he was in a hell of a lot of pain. But he’d grown up taking care of the kid, and he could see Sam was already near frantic with worry. So he wasn’t gonna add to it.
“When I called and you didn’t pick up… I feared the worst Dean,” Sam’s voice was thick with those same what ifs that had probably plagued him when he couldn’t get through to Dean. The worry shining just as brightly in the younger Winchester’s eyes as the big brother in him softened slightly, lifting a still weak hand to pat his younger brother on the back with a tired sigh.
“I know, kid… Thank you for acting so fast. You saved my life. You saved both our lives,” He murmured softly as he gave his brother another pat on his shoulder before withdrawing his arm with a small wince from the dull pain. He tried to conceal it, but by the way the furrow in Sam’s brow got deeper it was clear the observant younger Winchester had seen the way even a small movement had him wincing in pain from his bruised ribs and shaken brain.
“You could have died,” Sam shot back, a mix of anger and fear in his words as he ran his fingers through his hair. A nervous habit Dean remembered the kid having since his early teens.
“But I didn’t, and… Hell, I needed to be there for her,” Dean said with a weak shrug. He knew he’d acted like an idiot out there in the cabin. Hell… He shouldn’t have tried to fight Brian. He should have just taken her hand and gotten the hell out of dodge. But if he had… Brian would have probably shot him in the back before they got to the car. Or worse, shot her.
“I’m just glad the police arrived when they did,” Sam’s voice was shaky as he pushed the words out with a relieved sigh, letting his back hit the back of the chair as he leaned his head back. Blinking away traitorous tears at the future that hadn’t come to pass. A future where he died and (Y/N) was lost forever.
“All thanks to you Sammy,” Dean said with a grin as a comfortable silence fell over the hospital room and the two brothers.
—
After taking a few moments to breathe and digest the fact that Dean was still alive, both brothers had spent the next little while dissecting the case and what Sam knew so far. At least the parts that he could share. Though most of it wasn’t news to Dean after his earlier talk with detective Mick Davies. Who had been surprisingly forthcoming if what Sam shared was anything to go by.
Sam had just started talking about his two hour drive to the hospital when Dean spotted her (Y/H/C) hair outside of his room again through the half-closed door. His breath stuck in his throat the moment his eyes found her again. Even as a soft smile was teased out of him when he watched her best friends nearly tackle her to stop her from whatever she was saying.
By the guilty look she’d thrown his way, Dean had no doubt it was yet another apology for something that was in no way her fault. And, damn it, he couldn’t help but feel bad for how he used to roll his eyes at the group of friends as they loudly brunched on her balcony in the sun while he worked. They were great friends to have, and Dean was sure they’d be great friends of his too, if he was ever given the chance to get to know them better. Which he hoped he would be given… Once all of this bullshit was finally over.
As (Y/N) finally stepped back into his hospital room, Dean couldn’t help himself as he straightened up as best he could on his bed. Flinching at the fresh shots of aching pain as he sent her a small, careful smile.
Once again, Sam had practically ceased to exist as the girl from apartment 42, his sunshine girl, became the only clear spot in the room. And, as if sensing it, the younger Winchester got up out of his seat without another word. Walking over to her, Sam only gave her a small smile and a reassuring pat on the shoulder before silently leaving the two of them alone.
Sammy was always good at reading the room. Part of what made him such a damned good lawyer.
As the soft click of the door shutting signalled that the two of them were all alone, (Y/N) only moved a few more steps, until she was standing in the middle of the room. Her trembling sugar and sunshine lips parting and closing over nothing as she looked for the right words.
Not that Dean minded just waiting and watching her. The way her beautiful eyes moved across the room between throwing glances in his direction, or that cute furrow that was back on her brow as she tried to sort her thoughts out.
Damn it, he could watch her forever.
Yet, just as that though hit him. Her small voice finally filled the room. Warming the space between them as Dean let out a sigh in contentment. No, he didn’t just want to watch her. He wanted to talk to her, to understand all the complex thoughts swimming behind her eyes. He wanted to be there for her. He wanted her to think of him as her confidant. Someone she could finally let her walls down with. Hell…
He just wanted her to think of him.
“Hi,” Was all she said as she looked down at her hands, tearing at her shirt as she squeezed her eyes shut, as if cringing at her own one word sentence.
“Hey… Come on over here,” Dean shot back, keeping his voice soft and light as he patted the spot next to him on the bed in the direction of where the chair was. Though, hell, he wouldn’t have minded if she decided to sit on the bed with him instead.
“I have to go to the station… The statement and all that stuff. But, I wanted to just… Stop by first,” She said hesitantly as she threw a few glances at the closed door before walking the few steps across the hospital room and sinking into the chair where Sam had been sitting only moments earlier.
“Ah, so that’s why Charlie looked ready to kill Davies,” Dean mused with a lopsided smile, hoping his lighthearted words would help shake some of the guilt and tension off of her shoulders. A smile that only grew as he was rewarded by the beautiful sound of her laughter.
“She was ready to fight him in the cafeteria. I worried I’d have to bail her out for assaulting a police officer,” She laughed as (Y/E/C) eyes grew warm with fondness for her best friends.
Yet, as soon as the laughter warmed the room, it died down again. Leaving the girl from apartment 42 to fidget in her seat as she wet her bottom lip. Opening and closing her mouth, she looked up at him through her lashes as she tried to find the right words.
As the silence lasted for a beat. Then two. Dean finally decided to break it by clearing his throat. If nothing else, then to help remove the tense heavy air that seemed to be hanging around her as she frowned at her own inability to find the right words.
Then again, Dean wasn’t any better.
Though he wanted nothing more than to wrap her up in his arms and tell her how he felt, he just… Couldn’t. They were both too bruised and broken for him to lay it all on the line right there and then. Even though god, he wanted to. Still, what happened in the cabin was too fresh. And he couldn’t touch on the feelings they’d left behind there, nor on the half-conscious confession he barely remembered making. So instead, he settled for the relative safety of stating the obvious. Even as the words he really wanted to say echoed in the back of his mind.
“So… You’re finally safe now,” He said with a relieved sigh. And though he meant every single word. It wasn’t the ones he wanted to say. No, as the words left him, his mind translated them silently and buried the truth of them in his heart…
I’d do anything to keep you safe.
“You too. I’m sor… Thank you,” (Y/N) started to apologise, but as her eyes met his and she saw the small frown on his features, she corrected herself with a tired smile. Finally shedding the guilt that wasn’t hers to carry. If even just for his sake. Damn it, she just cared so much. Of course, he’d fallen for her. With her bright eyes and fiery spirit hiding such a fragile, gentle soul.
I’m falling for you.
Parting his lips, he nearly let the words slip just from the sight of the heartbreak that was still evident in her eyes. Refracting the light in the room through shards of her own broken heart before sending it back to him as a beautiful prism. Yet, he managed to bite his tongue. Thinking better of it as he swallowed them back down with a small, slightly stiff smile.
“They’ll both be going away for a long, long time,” Dean promised, though he knew the promise wasn’t his to make. Yet, again, his mind changed and shifted his words as he stored them safely in his heart. Transforming them into the only promise he truly wanted to make; I’ll stay. Right here. With you.
Biting her lip, (Y/N) just nodded, her head dipping as she played with her fingers in her lap. As Dean followed her gaze, he watched as one trembling thumb circled the light band of purple bruised skin around her ring finger, where the ring Brian had forced her to wear had been. Squaring his jaw, Dean reeled his anger back in with a heavy breath as he felt his hands curl into fists. Clearly the police had taken the ring as evidence. Though Dean wanted nothing more than to see the small piece of metal destroyed.
“I hope so,” Her voice was small when she finally spoke up. (Y/E/C) eyes barely met his before her head dropped again and she squeezed them shut to hold back tears. Damn it… He didn’t want to make her cry. He never wanted to make her sad. Groaning internally at his own stupidity. He struggled to think up something, anything else that could take her mind off of the monsters who had haunted her.
Yet, as he opened his mouth to speak, the words that came out were not as innocuous as he’d meant them to be. As the one thing he couldn’t help but worry about slipped out instead of a lighter topic, once his eyes landed on his own split up knuckles with a grimace.
“I’m sorry… I probably scared you with…” He sighed as he gestured to his knuckles with a small frown. The small voice in his heart begging her to not be scared of him as he bit back the words.
I’d never hurt you.
“No, it’s fine. He… He deserved it,” She sighed, finally looking up at him again.
The few tears in her eyes had been hastily wiped away by the sleeve of her shirt before her hand instead hovered over the split skin on his knuckles. Anxious worry stained (Y/E/C) eyes as she looked for some way to heal his hurt with just a simple touch of her fingers.
Giving up, his sunshine girl didn’t pull away however. Choosing instead to let her soft, trembling fingers trace a pattern against the back of his hand. Carefully avoiding the injured skin around his knuckles as he sighed in relief. She didn’t hate him.
“I just needed you to be safe is all,” He shrugged, as his eyes closed involuntarily at the pleasurable feel of her fingers playing across his skin. Damn it, she was better than the morphine drip the doctors had given him. And it took everything he had to not blurt out what he really wanted to say, as his mind once more twisted his words into a confession in the back of his mind.
I need you.
“Thank you Dean,” She whispered as Dean opened his eyes to look at her again. His heart soaring when he saw that small smile that had come to mean everythingto him during their stay in the lakehouse.
“No problem,” He said with a smile as he swallowed heavily with his heart in his throat from the heavenly sight of her smile. Forcing down the only words he’d really wanted to say, this whole time.
I’m in love with you (Y/N).
Chasing the words away with a heavy breath, Dean instead just brightened his own smile. He couldn’t tell her. Not yet. Not when there was still so much weighing on her shoulders. Yes, he’d tried to tell her how he felt, or he’d at least made some laughably weak attempts at telling her, back at the cabin. Hell, he’d even openly told Brian that he liked her. But she was fragile then and, damn it, he had taken advantage of that fragility to bare his heart to her.
Sure… She’d seemed to hint at feelings that mirrored his back then… And no matter what happened, the taste of her kiss would never leave him. It was tattooed onto his very soul. But, now that she was out of it all? Hell, maybe he was just her neighbour again… If that was what she wanted, fuck, it would hurt, but that would be what he’d be.
Still, he couldn’t ask her now.
He couldn’t risk ruining the smile that was slowly blossoming once more. And, damn it, he didn’t want to be the reason for her tears or anguish. She was already carrying guilt that didn’t belong to her. What if she felt guilty for not feeling the same way as him?
No… Dean couldn’t say it. So, instead he bit the words back and kept his voice, and his change of topic, light.
“So, what now?” Dean cringed at his choice of words. It was… Laughably weak and would only bring the conversation full circle. Seeing as she had already told him she would be going down to the station to give her statement. Yet, as she sighed and let her bright eyes go unfocused she seemed to search for an answer beyond the police station. (Y/E/C) orbs staring into a future that once more existed instead of the terrifying nightmare of prison bars and cameras she’d been faced with only hours earlier, Dean still held his breath as he waited for her answer. Wondering if he was anywhere to be found in whatever future she was staring into.
“Now, I don’t know…” She shrugged and frowned in that way that sent Dean’s heart into his throat again as he swallowed hard. Letting his hands dig into the blanket, he bit the inside of his cheek in an effort to stop himself from reaching out to erase the cute creases in her forehead with his thumb.
“I don’t think I can go back there. To… That place. Gabe’s offered up his guest bedroom, until I find another apartment,” She sighed, her eyes dropping as Dean’s heart fell into the pit of his stomach. Leaving him nauseous and winded at the revelation.
“Oh…” Was all he managed to push out as he moved his eyes off of her to instead focus on his hands.
Of course she’d move. It shouldn’t have come as a shock to Dean. Yet, the thought of the apartment next to his being empty. The very idea of not hearing her little annoyed knocks against his bedroom wall in the morning. Or of not knowing she was right there, next to him, still tore at his heart as he swallowed the lump in his throat.
“But! I’ll… I’ll call you. Ok?” She shot in, throwing him a look tinged with worry and the early rays of fresh hope. Her bright (Y/E/C) eyes begging him to believe in her.
“Alright, I just… I want you to be happy (Y/N),” Dean said, giving her a small smile that he hoped looked believable as she returned it with her own shaky smile and placed her hand on his.
For a second, they just sat there in silence. As Dean searched for the words to make her stay… Or at least the words to make her smile that full bright smile from the days back on her balcony in apartment 42. However, before he could, the sharp knock of knuckles against plywood cut him off as Sam pushed open the door and peeked in.
“(Y/N)? Detective Davies is…” Sam started, cutting off his words when Dean shot him an annoyed look. Yet the damage was already done as his sunshine girl let out a tired sigh.
“Oh… Of course. I’ll… I’ll call you?” Her words came out shaped as a question instead of a statement as she waited for his permission, though she didn’t even have to ask. Dean would do anything for her.
Letting her fingers play with his hand again she smiled softly as he nodded. Before a trembling hand lifted to gently move a few stray hairs out of his face as Dean closed his eyes to revel in her touch.
“I’ll be waiting,” He hummed as he opened his eyes again and gave her a soft, genuine smile.
Smiling back, his sunshine girl, the girl who would no longer reside in apartment 42, gave him a small wave as she removed her fingertips from his skin and lifted herself out of the chair.
Parting her lips, she looked as if she wanted to say something else, before thinking better of it as she hurried back across the hospital room and over to the door where Sam was waiting. Wetting those sugar lips before mouthing a final bye his way, she slipped out, and into the hallway where Detective douchebag was waiting for her.
Yet, even as her eyes focused on the detective and her friends, Dean’s eyes didn’t leave her. Not as she readied herself to leave and took a few careful steps down the hallway before throwing a final glance his way over her shoulder.
No… Dean’s eyes stayed glued on her retreating form. Not leaving her until she was fully out of sight.
Summary: Dean, was hit by a spell cast by an apparently lovesick witch. And though your little group tries to keep him from her, he breaks free. Breaking your heart along the way.
Your vision was dimming at the edges, yet you still forced your eyes to focus on Dean. Watching him numbly from where you’d crumbled on the floor as he pushed himself away from Jane’sbody on the ground.
You expected him to keep looking her way, to keep being drawn to her, yet green eyes never left you as he turned his back on the dead witch to face you. His eyes were wide and shoulders heaving as trembling lips formed words you couldn’t hear. Struggling to catch the words, you frowned as the ringing in your ears and the sound of your own heartbeat drowned out everything else.
Nothing could break through the stillness as you felt yourself struggle to breathe through the taste of blood in your mouth and the heartbreak still lodged in your chest.
And suddenly you understood them… The words you’d read so many iterations of in countless books. The quietness of death. Of worlds ending with whimpers instead of bangs. But it wasn’t peaceful. The authors of your favourite books had still gotten that part wrong at least.
There was no peace in the numb stillness that was slowly eating away at your still thundering heartbeats as you watched Dean scramble to his feet in front of you. It was just…Quiet. Cold. Like a silent movie, with the colours of the world, your world, bleeding out on the floor together with the last few moments you had.
You felt like you were stuck under water. Everything was moving so painfully slowly, so achingly silently. And all you wanted was to hear Dean’s deep, reassuring voice. Your Dean. Not the shell that had worshipped at the feet of that bitch.
If you were going to die anyway. Was it too much to ask to not have to go out with only the echo of Dean’s hatred and rejection ringing in your ears?
—
You could feel yourself slipping.
The darkening edges of your vision were taking over, and Dean’s normally brilliant green eyes looked desaturated and nearly grey to you. Like the rest of the world. Like he would just fade away into the background along with the last of your heartbeats.
Yet, as you watched, he rushed to your side. And with him, came a fresh rush of air as you tried to find the will to fight the pain. Your body somehow trying to keep you alive on just willpower and some ancient instinct of fight or flight alone, as you steeled yourself for what you’d see once he finally reached you. Once he was close enough that you could properly interpret the heartbreak and agony you could still see in his eyes.
In just a few steps, Dean was by your side, sliding down to the ground next to you as those big hands that you’d believed would always keep you safe reached out for you. Now looking nearly dangerous as you feared the invisible strings left by the witch that had turned him into a puppet would twist the normally tender, warm hands of your Dean into weapons to beat you down with. Seeking her revenge even after death.
Flinching away from his touch you glanced up at him gritting your teeth. Both from the fresh shots of pain coursing through your veins from the sudden movement and from what you feared you’d see when you finally met his eyes up close. Fearing that his eyes, stained with hexed hatred and a spellbound need to avenge a false love, would be the last thing you would ever see.
But, as your eyes finally connected with his again… Bringing with them fresh colours and new sounds as the world came back into focus, all you saw was more of that heart wrenching pain and worry.
“(Y/N)…” Dean’s voice was shaky as it finally managed to break through the hollow nothingness that surrounded you. His hands trembling where they were left hanging in the air after you’d flinched away from his touch.
Letting your tongue wet your lips, you tried to find your voice, but found only the coppery taste of blood as you looked up at him hesitantly. Still uncertain. Still rattled by the ringing in your ears of both gunshots and heated, angry words as you tried to interpret the heartbreak you saw there. Yet, before you could try to find your voice again. Sam spoke up. Somewhere to the side, outside the pinprick of light left in your vision that was only filled with Dean.
“Dean?” Sam’s voice pulled Dean’s eyes away from yours. Somehow breaking whatever hold the heartbreak fractured in slightly dimmed green eyes held over you as you forced yourself to glance towards the younger Winchester as well.
If nothing else to ensure he was still ready to uphold his promise, even if you couldn’t keep yours. Yet, as your blurry eyes finally managed to focus on him. All that caught your eyes were the last embers of flame next to him. Drawing your eyes like the light at the end of the tunnel you could feel yourself slowly being pulled down.
In the back of your mind, the parts of your brain that had not been rattled and unravelled by the gunshots that had echoed against concrete and back into your skull, connected the dots. And a shaky breath shaped like hope left you.
The witch’s box.
Sammy had burned the small tin the witch had been playing with. Which meant… Shifting your focus back onto Dean, where he was still looking at Sam, you held your breath, though each new gasp of air was becoming harder to come by. If the box was anything like a hex bag then… Could your Dean really be back? Was the worry in his eyes really for you? Or was it all just one last hope for the cruel world to crush before it cut your life short and sent you, barreling, down to hell?
“Are you… Is that really you Dean?” Sam pushed as he watched his older brother struggle. Eyes going from you to the side where you knew the burned out tin box was lying by Sam’s side.
“Yeah… Yeah Sammy, It’s me. I mean, I’m me again, but…” Dean’s voice was broken and shaky as he finally answered. His hands, frozen where they’d been reaching for you as you flinched, finally falling into his lap as he fully turned to face you again. Green eyes overflowing with guilt and the glassy shards of his broken heart spilling down his cheeks as he gasped around words he seemed unable to push out. His lips trembling as he tried and failed to form them over and over again.
Dean was back.
You’d guessed right. Just like with a hex bag, the spell was broken by destroying the vessel that housed it. Attempting a small smile, your features twisted into a pained grimace instead as you gasped for breath. Sam had done it. The younger Winchester always did have a good head on his shoulders.
Yet, even though the realisation that your Dean was back lifted the worst of the worry and pain off of your broken body. The agony you saw painted in his green eyes only pushed fresh shards of heartbreak into your lungs as you struggled to gasp for air around it.
“It's…Oh God… (Y/N). I’m so sorry,” Finally finding his voice again, the words left Dean as an explosive sob as he hesitantly reached out for you. Flinching away from you just as his fingers brushed against your arm when the soft touch drew a whimper of pain from your trembling lips.
The guilt and blazing agony in his eyes tore at you as you forced yourself to breathe through the pain. Gritting your teeth around the gasps of anguish that wanted to leave you as you tried to find the words to soothe his hurt. To remove his guilt.
After all, you didn’t blame him. You could never blame him. Not for this. Not for anything. Not when you knew he already carried the weight of the world on his shoulders.
“It’s…” You tried to form the words. Telling him it was ok. That it wasn’t his fault. But Dean rejected them with a shake of his head as his trembling hands finally connected with your skin. Feeling nearly too hot against your ice cold body.
“The bleeding… Need to stop the bleeding,” His voice was breaking as he spoke, more to himself than anyone else. Busying himself with checking the wound on your arm as you followed his eyes down to where lead had torn through your skin. Only managing a muted sound of surprise at the deep red coating your arm and side as you watched where your lifeblood was slowly but surely ebbing out of you.
Though you’d flinched from the initial feel of Dean’s fingers against your skin. Your arm had gone so numb, and the rest of your body was in such agonising pain, that you could barely feel the steady throb of your life leaving you anymore. All you felt was pure exhaustion.
Now that Dean was back, you were suddenly just sotired.
“Oh…” Was all you managed to say as you watched, as if from outside your body, as Dean’s trembling hands moved frantically in the air in front of you. Trying and failing to find some way to help you as you slowly bled out. Yet, as your eyes lifted from red to meet green, you fought your way through the copper taste on your tongue to soothe him. Even if your words were barely a whisper.
You needed to make everything ok again. You had to calm your weary soldier. Just like you’d soothe him whenever he’d wake up in a cold sweat next to you on nights where the ghosts of lives lost haunting his dreams got just a little too close.
“I’m fine Dean. I’ll be fine…” You whispered.
You wanted to say so much more but the words were lost in another gasp of air as your lungs struggled against the pull of the darkness that still waited at the edges of your vision. Tempting you with oblivion. With an empty nothingness, an existence free from pain and heartache. A pull that was only growing stronger as the minutes ticked past like bullets in a barrel. Like the sound of the empty chamber once you’d run out of bullets to pepper that bitchwith.
Only knowing that your Dean was back kept you from giving into the darkness, as you forced yourself to breathe around the numb, hollow feeling in your chest. Focusing on his words to not lose sight of him.
“You’re dying (Y/N)! I shot you. Oh God,” The explosive power behind Dean’s words made you flinch as you gritted your teeth against fresh shots of pain and the black spots in your vision. Fading in and out of consciousness as you tried to keep your eyes on Dean. Yet, you were clearly losing seconds, or possibly minutes, between each new flash of green as Dean’s voice ebbed in and out, like the slow tide trying to pull you under.
His voice would slowly emerge into existence under the thick blanket of darkness…
“Sammy! We need to…”
Before quickly ebbing out again. Replaced by an empty cold, seeping into your bones as you searched desperately for green eyes again. Finding them more to the left of you, towards your bloodied arm than where you’d last seen them.
“Cas… We need Castiel,” Sam was speaking.
The younger Winchester was suddenly in front of you. His phone in a big trembling hand as he looked from Dean to you and back again. Phone pushed to his ear as you tried to catch what he was saying. Before you faded again.
“You can’t die (Y/N)… You can’t. I need you,” Coming to again, Dean’s arms were around you. You were in his lap. The cold concrete floor that had been syphoning the warmth from your bones was replaced by Dean’s warm jean covered thighs as you tried to lift a shaky hand to wipe at the tears staining his eyes. Only to realise you couldn’t feel your body anymore.
Though you needed to soothe him. Your Dean. Even if you wouldn’t make it out of there. And by now you were sure you wouldn’t. Yet, before you could do anything to soothe his guilt, to let him know you didn’t blame him. That you freed him for whatever he thought he needed your forgiveness for… You were out again.
Floating in that same empty nothingness.
“Shhh… I’m sorry baby. Shit. I know, I know it hurts, but we need to put pressure on it,” Dean’s rushed, sobbed words returned to you along with the wretched sound of a broken scream. A cry of pain that you realised, belatedly, was leaving your own chapped, dry lips. A subconscious reaction to the blazing agony in your arm as the sudden pressure of Dean’s torn shirt shocked your nerves out of their numb state and chased the shadows away in a flash of blinding pain.
“(Y/N) don’t leave me… Pleasedon’t leave me… Sammy!” Dean’s words sounded hollow to your ears, but the pain in them still pierced you as you tried to speak through the whimpers that were forcefully leaving your broken and bloodied body. Your words, if they even were words and not just gasps for air, couldn’t reach him. As you tried and failed to calm him.
Dean wasn’t listening. Too busy begging you for forgiveness, begging you to stay with him, pleadingwith your stuttered, weakening heartbeats to hold on. Just a little bit longer. Just until help could reach you.
Yet, before you could try again. Green eyes were torn from where they were intently watching you form voiceless words on trembling lips to look up at his brother. As Sam’s relieved gasp stopped his endless prayers to you with just a few words.
“He’s here Dean!”
—
Grace.
It was a shapeless word. A shapeless presence.
Yet the way it filled your body was beyond your understanding of shape. It was colour and light; warmth and forgiveness. It was larger than you, larger than the world itself.
It felt like heaven. So your heart translated it into the only definition of heaven you knew.
Grace felt like Dean’s hand in yours. Like strong arms wrapped around you, keeping you safe. It brought with it memories of his whispers of forever, and the way the slight nervous shake to his voice had made butterflies out of heartbeats when he proposed to you. Grace felt like Dean. Like the shapeless, all-consuming presence of love. And to you, that love would always feel like Dean.
Grace was a shapeless word, yet to you it had a shape. It had a name. It had forest green eyes, a dusting of freckles and laugh lines that always crinkled when he smiled at you.
And even if it was Castiel’s steady fingers on your forehead pushing life back into your nearly lifeless body through his weakened grace, Dean’s hand was the one that was pulling you up out of the darkness. The memory of how his kiss tasted was the sugar and spice that chased away the taste of copper blood on your tongue.
As the lingering pain faded away; it was replaced with Dean. Just… Dean. But not the hollow imitation that the witch had pulled along on hexed strings. This was yourDean.
Sweet, perfect and whole.
Yet, before you could let yourself drown in the grace flooding your veins. It was gone. Pushed to the wayside along with the shadows and the black dots crowding your vision as the world came back into focus, along with startlingly green eyes. Leaving you gasping for air as oxygen flooded your system and warmth seeped back into your freezing body.
“Ohthank God,”
Dean’s broken voice was the first thing you heard once you finally fully returned to your body. Turning (Y/E/C) eyes to look up at him with a small shaky smile, you finally found the strength to gently wipe at the tears staining his eyes and flooding the normally bright forest that you loved getting lost in.
Yet, as you went to rest your still weak palm against his cheek, Dean flinched away from your touch. Guilt staining his eyes as you watched his heart break a little bit more from the way your hand fell numbly back into your lap.
“We should move her… My grace, it’s not what it once was. (Y/N) is still not fully healed, but…” From somewhere behind you, you heard the calm cadence of Castiel, your saviour. Speaking in muted tones to what you guessed was Sam as you gingerly lifted your head to look over at them. The small movement inadvertently prompting Dean to gently place you back down on the concrete floor from where he’d been cradling your body as he moved away from you. Leaving you feeling chilled to the bone again the moment you couldn’t feel his warm, steady arms around you.
Yet, you bit back the pained whimper that wanted to leave you at the silent rejection as you met his guilt ridden eyes. Still carrying the blame you’d never wanted to place on his shoulders for your current state.
“Cas…” Sam’s voice pulled your eyes off of the broken hunter next to you as you glanced up just in time to catch the younger Winchester shake his head at the angel. Motioning to Castiel to follow him across the room as he silently gave you and Dean some much needed space.
Sending the two men a weak, grateful smile, you took a shaky breath as you turned to face the man you loved more than life itself. The same man that was currently busy torturing himself behind dimmed eyes as he looked at your through tearstained lashes.
Your heart ached for him. Your weak fingers trembled with a nearly indescribable need to reach out to him. To soothe his hurts. To hold your broken hunter close and whisper soft words of love into his hair until they flooded his senses and sutured his broken heart. Yet, before you could even find the words. Your defeated soldier spoke up instead.
“I was there… You know,” He whispered, head bowed, like a condemned man waiting for judgement. His cryptic whispers were left to hang in the air as your own words were left unspoken on the tip of your tongue. Replaced instead with a soft confused noise as your brow furrowed, trying to decode his whispers.
“I was… I was locked in my head. I watched as I hurt you. I heard every word I…” Dean gritted his teeth as he forced the words out. Green eyes squeezing shut as his shaking hands curled into fists in his lap. He was trembling. Your normally steady soldier, your rock, was shaking as if he was moments away from unravelling completely. Falling apart in front of you.
For a second, your heart was lodged in your throat, as tears filled your eyes once his words finally fully registered. Oh God. He had been breaking his own heart along with yours, with every bitter, acrid thing he’d said while under the witch’s spell. An unwilling audience, forced to watch as he destroyed you… And himself right along with you.
“Dean…” You tried, your hand lifted to reach out to him, but before your fingers could brush against one of his balled up fists he shook his head. Eyes opening and stealing your breath away as the light fractured against his pain.
“I was screaming at myself (Y/N). I begged myself not to… But I still heard it all. I watched as I broke your heart. I felt myself pulling the trigger. I… I felt myself hurt you,” Dean’s shoulders heaved as he fought through ragged breaths, forcing the words out as he let his eyes drop. Normally safe, steady shoulders hunched as he refused to meet your eyes. Already condemning himself, though you didn’t blame him.
Not for any of it.
“It wasn’t you Dean,” You pushed, yet, every time you tried to brush the guilt off of his shoulders, he only piled more onto them. Folding in on himself as he refused to take the hand you willingly offered him and lift himself out of the shadows of condemnation.
“But it was me. Even if I… It was still me saying those words. Still me kissing… Someone who wasn’t you,” Dean flinched as his own words, his face twisting in a mix of hurt and disgust as he lifted a shaky hand to his mouth. As if he could wipe away the traces of the witch left there.
The mention of the kiss burned through your veins as bile rose in your throat. But you pushed it back. It wasn’t Dean. It wasn’t your Dean. And you refused to be haunted by the ghost of a kiss that meant nothing. A hollow imitation that could never live up to your love for him, and his for you.
“Dean, please…” Your voice was just a whisper as you tried to get him to stop letting those same ghosts haunt him. Still too weak to physically pull him back into the light, you hoped the sound of your voice, the shape of his name on your lips, could function as a beacon for him to find his way back to you himself. Yet, Dean didn’t stop as he shook away salvation and chose the shackles of guilt.
“I couldn’t stop any of it. I could feel it (Y/N). I felt like I wanted to kill you. Even as I screamed at myself to go to you. To wrap my arms around you and protectyou. I felt like I hated you, even though I also knew that I loved you. I…” His voice was breaking over every word as they rushed past trembling lips. Shaking along with every broken heartbeat that rattled in your own chest as you watched the strongest man you knew fall apart in front of you. Torn between two contrasting emotions and statements as he suffered from the aftershock of the war he’d been waging inside himself the whole time he was under the witch’s control,
“It was all her Dean, not you…” You tried. Though Dean kept speaking, shaking away the lifeline like he had the many others you’d tried to offer up. Willingly drowning himself in the endless tears you’d shed over the half day you’d spent apart.
“She might have been behind it, but I was the one that pulled the trigger. I was the one that nearly killed…”
“You were just the weapon she used, Dean. An unwilling weapon. I know you’d never hurt me. Not the real you. You don’t blame the weapon. You blame the person wielding it,” You couldn’t listen anymore as you forced yourself to sit up a bit straighter. Gritting your teeth against the pain, you raised your voice just a fraction. Forcing Dean to hear you, over the explosive sounds left by his own voluntary demolition of his heart.
“But I didhurt you. Even though I… Damn it, even though I’d rather die than see you hurt,” Dean argued back.
His eyes finally lifted to meet yours. Begging you to see the truth in them, hidden between a veil of self-hatred and angry tears. Yet all you saw was a man walking willingly to a gallows not meant for him. All you felt was the panic clutching your chest as you feared for your heart. Since you’d long since given it to Dean, and if he went and did something foolish out of some stupidly misplaced penance, he’d just take your heart with him six feet under.
“Don’t say that. Please don’t say that,” You urged as you tried to block out even the mention of Dean dying in your place from your mind. Your bruised and battered heart couldn’t handle another blow. Not now. Not when you had finally gotten him back.
“Why not? It’s the fuckingtruth. When I was… I kept wishing I’d just die. That I’d choke on the awful things I was saying to you and just…” Dean’s voice was bitter and acrid as he spat out the words. But the hatred in them was all aimed inwards. As he shaped every syllable into a blade and stabbed it at the very core of himself. Yet, you were left feeling the sharp agony of every blow along with him as you gasped for air around a wordless sob.
“Dean!” Your voice was loud enough to echo in the concrete room, just like the earlier gunshots had, as you finally gave into your own explosive pain and yelled at your stupid self-sacrificing fiancé.
Lifting your arm, you tried to reach out to him again, to cover his trembling fist with your hand and make him listen. Yet, you’d misjudged the state your body was in. Using your formerly bullet ridden arm to reach for him in a moment of heated agony and panic, you flinched from fresh shots of pain rushing your system. The small flinch functioning as a reminder to your both of the gunshot that had nearly torn you away from his side forever.
“And I’m still hurting you… See?” A hollow laugh left Dean as he grimaced in an echo of your pain. His hand lifted, fist unfurling as he reached out to check on your injury.
Yet, before his fingers could connect with your still bloodsoaked skin, he pulled back, as if burned. As if he thought he wasn’t even worthy of touching you anymore. Letting his hand drop, his shoulders fell with a shake of his head. Looking up at you with heartbreak in his eyes as he wet trembling lips.
“I don’t know if you can ever forgive me…” The words left him as a whisper as he hesitated over every single syllable. Eyes locked on the hand that had reached out for you in a mix of admonishment and wistfulness. As if he both wished he could touch you and hated himself for believing he had the right to do so. Though all you wanted was to feel his warmth again. To know your Dean was really back, by your side.
Where he belonged.
“Ido. I never blamed you to begin with,” You replied as you said to hell with the pain and let your fingers ghost against his chin, urging him to lift his downturned face and see the truth of your words in your eyes.
“I know it will take some time. For the… Wounds to heal. But that other Dean. He wasn’t you. And I love you,” You continued, making sure to fill every word with as much sincerity as possible. Because you did mean every word.
Sure, the pain was still there. The dull ache of heartbreak, the echoes of vicious words and the mixed feelings of loss and nauseousness from picturing Dean with someone else. But it hadn’t been him.
This, however?
The man on his knees next to you who loved so deeply that he’d rather offer up his own heart and body as a shield than ever watch another person he cared about get hurt.. This was your Dean. And your Dean never stopped loving you. Even under the powerful spell of the witch. Your Dean had still been somewhere in there, lost and fighting.
For you.
“I don’t deserve you…” He whispered. Still unwilling to drop his own chains of guilt. Yet, his cheek subconsciously pushed against the warmth of your hand as his eyes fluttered closed. A soft sigh escaping, as he indulged in the feel of your fingers against his skin.
“You deserve the world Dean,” You pressed, letting your fingers trace the shape of your broken soldier’s fallen features. From the furrowed crease in his brow down to his still trembling bottom lip.
Reaching up, Dean tentatively let his calloused fingertips brush the back of your hand. Before just as quickly pulling away again. But this time you didn’t let him, as your fingers slipped from his face to catch his hand in yours. Squeezing his hand, you tugged gently on it until he finally gave in with a soft sigh. Shifting his body so he could lift you into his lap and wrap you up in his warm embrace.
Holding you close, gently and carefully, as if he was worried he’d hurt you, Dean let his head drop to your shoulder. Soaking your hair in his hurt as he breathed you in with shaky breaths. The tension finally bleeding from his tired body as his lips brushed against your neck in a ghost of a kiss, yet didn’t fully connect. Hesitant and careful, as if he was still unsure he deserved to hide his sins in the crook of your neck.
Sins he shouldn’t be carrying at all.
—
“I never gave it to her… I managed to keep it safe,” He mumbled against your neck after simply holding you silently for a while. The shaking of his body had finally stilled, and the arms that were barely even holding you at first had tightened ever so slightly. As he familiarised himself with the feel of you again and drowned in your scent.
At his words, however, you were forced to pull slightly out of his embrace to look questioningly at him. The small annoyed groan that slipped from his lips at the loss of your warmth teasing a careful smile out of you as you caught a glimpse of the old Dean in it. The same man that would pull you closer and hold you tight against his body whenever you tried to leave the bed every morning.
Yet, your smile fell away as you met with sad eyes. Wetting his lips, Dean reluctantly dropped an arm from where he was holding you close to dig through his pocket.
Your unspoken question was left hanging in the air as his brow furrowed trying to get a grip on something in his jeans pocket without jostling your body on his lap too much. The silence remained unbroken until his fingers finally came back into view, pinching a small piece of gold between two trembling fingers as you felt the ghost of it around your ring finger.
“Your engagement ring. I hid it… From her. I couldn’t let her get it. Even if I didn’t know if you’d even want it anymore. After… I made sure to keep it safe,” He finally continued, holding up the small gold band that gleamed in the dim light of the room. The small ring looked even smaller when held by his big hand as you swallowed a sob from the sight of it.
When he’d asked for it back, in the motel room. You never thought you’d see it again.
You’d been terrified to look too closely at Jane’s hands. Afraid you’d break apart completely if you caught a flash of gold around her finger. Worried you’d have to live with the ghost of the ring against your skin haunting you for the rest of your life.
Yet, there it was.
Dean had held onto it. He hadn’t let her get it. Even when under the full weight of her spell, he’d kept the ring, and the promises of forever that were nestled securely in the engraving of your two names on the inside, safe from her.
Holding out your hand you waited for Dean to slide it back on your finger. But even with your hand outstretched, he still hesitated. Downcast eyes looking from you to the ring as he kept holding it gently between two shaky fingers.
The simple action of holding out your hand wasn’t enough, as Dean seemed to need to hear you say it. To say you still wanted to wear his ring; that you still wanted him.
So, with a shaky breath, you reshaped words you’d spoken a year ago. When your boyfriend of five years had gotten down on one knee and offered up his heart to you with similarly hesitant words. Worried you didn’t want a forever with him, when forever could be so painfully short in the life of a hunter.
“Of course I want it Dean. Of course I want you. It’s the only thing I’ve ever wanted. A life with you,” You whispered, letting your fingers gently caress his and the gold band he’d kept safe for you with a soft smile.
With a small relieved sigh, he slipped the ring back on your finger before wrapping you back up in his arms as you twisted slightly in his lap to face him fully. The whispered thank you that he slipped against your skin not lost on you as you gently lifted his face. Making his eyes meet yours where he was once more trying to hide in the crook of your neck as you let your thumb run over his bottom lip. You wanted to kiss him. You wanted him to kiss you. To seal your renewed promise of forever with his lips on yours.
Wetting his lips, Dean leaned in. Hesitating just an inch from your lips as he looked from them and into your eyes. The soft crease back on his brow as he searched for any signs of rejection in your (Y/E/C) eyes. Waiting a beat, then another, he took a shaky breath before he finally let his lips brush against yours. Once, twice, three times. As he kissed you, softly, gently and oh so heartrendingly carefully.
Each kiss only lasted a fraction of a second as he kept glancing back up at you between each small taste of your lips. As if he was worried you’d pull away from him. When all you wanted was for him to kiss away the pain and the heartache. To finally erase the taste of copper and salt, of blood and tears, from your lips and replace it with the taste of him.
Lifting your arms, you fought through the fresh shot of pain, careful to not let it show on your features, as you wrapped your arms around your fiancé’s neck and pulled him close. Your tongue tracing his full bottom lip as he gasped in relief and eagerly fell into your kiss.
And as you lost yourself in him. The world was finally right again. The feel of his warm arms, securely around you, paired with the gold band snug on your finger and the taste of Dean on your tongue, quickly sutured up wounds that you knew would heal. Because you would be there for each other every step of the way. Soothing the past hurts with soft touches and even softer words and setting broken hearts with more days, more love and more promises of forever.
You’d be fine, you were always fine. After all, you had each other. And somehow that was enough to make you want to believe in fairy-tales.
