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!
“Family is family. Whether it’s the one you start out with, the one you end up with, or the family you gain along the way.”
Those words echo in your head as you stare at the empty Impala, sitting quietly in the nearly empty motel parking lot. Your heart squeezes tightly in your chest as you realize the next decision you’d make would be one that would forever impact your life. Your eyes trace the lines of the sleek vehicle you’d spent the better part of the last three years in.
Three years in which you had risked your life multiple times, been through hell, literally, and seen the potential end of the world. Yet, you wouldn’t take any of it back. You wouldn’t give up any of the moments of the past three years for a chance at that apple pie, white picket fence, 2.5 kids life. Hell, you wouldn’t give up a second, even if it meant that the decision you faced now would be non-existent.
The decision to stick it out, to continue to watch the man you secretly love find momentary comfort in the arms of any woman who happened to look his way, to sit idly by as he drowned his sorrows with a bottle of whiskey, and to constantly have to bit your tongue to keep from saying the words you so desperately want to. Or the decision to run, to leave it all behind; the pain, the heartache, the desperate need to hear him whisper the three words that consumed your entire waking thoughts when you were around him. Your entire life hung in the balance, suspended in a pendulum between the choice to run and the choice to stay.
The glow of the flickering fluorescent bulbs reflects onto the shiny black hood of the Impala, pulling you in and drawing your eye to the driver’s wheel. You could almost picture him behind the wheel, one hand casually resting against it as he leans back into the leather seat, the sounds of Led Zeppelin blasting out of the speakers.
The warm air whips in through the open windows, hitting your cheeks and grabbing at your hair. A beam of sunlight shines through the window, sending a pleasant feeling of warmth racing through you as you lean back into the heated leather of the passenger seat. You tilt your head just enough to look over at Dean, your heart squeezing in your chest at the pure freedom on Dean’s face. That satisfied smile rests easily on his lips, his hand settled comfortably on the wheel. The sleeves of his worn flannel are pushed up, revealing his muscular, tanned forearms.
Dean reaches forward, turning down the sounds of “Rambling Man” filling the car. “Sweetheart, I can feel you staring at me. If you want something, all you have to do is ask.” He says smugly, giving you a side-eye before returning his attention to the road.
“I was just looking at that spider on your shoulder.” You answer nonchalantly. “It’s a big one.”
Dean shivers dramatically, a hand shooting out wildly to run over his shoulder. You can’t help but laugh at his sudden reaction and he gives you a dirty look.
“Jeez sweetheart, that’s a bit low.” His tone is sarcastic, a bit biting, but his eyes twinkle. His hand snakes out, grabbing your side and tickling it as best he can while still keeping the vehicle moving forward in something of a straight line.
You let out a loud laugh as you fight off his hand. “Dean,” You say breathlessly, his fingers relentless in their pursuit. He gives you a suave smile, accompanied by a wink, before withdrawing his hand, his gaze returning fully to the road ahead of him.
You lean back in the seat, savoring the moment. Quiet moments, where everything in the world was right and normal, didn’t happen often in this life. You couldn’t recall the last time you’d actually seen Dean smile in pure, honest happiness and that alone had you wishing that you could freeze time and stay here forever in this moment with Dean.
A soft smile spreads across your face at the memory. That had been a good day, one where the troubles of the supernatural, of hunting and saving the world, hadn’t hung over you like a dark cloud. The heavy creak of a door pulls you out of your thoughts, your attention flying to the row of rooms behind you.
A broad, unmistakable figure stands in the doorway, outlined by the dim light of the room behind him, his features partially hidden in the shadows. You don’t say anything, watching as he slowly closes the distance separating the two of you. His eyes land on your duffle, which you had discarded at your feet while you’d been trying to decide what to do next.
“Where you going Y/N?” He asks in a rare instance in which he used your real name and not some nickname he’d concocted for you. You give a half-hearted shrug in response, unable to answer as your mind floats between the two decisions in front of you.
He knew without looking, what you were thinking about, it was written all over your face. And yet, he still couldn’t bring himself to say the words he’d been burying underneath the surface for the last year. He couldn’t say the words because he knew that the moment he did, you’d be drug down with him, caught in that endless battle between the good and the evil. Or even worse, that something would use you to get to him, turn you into that evil being he felt he himself had become.
“I can’t do this anymore.” You finally speak, something unexplainable pushing you towards a decision, one that would tear you apart, but would take you out of that vicious cycle you’d fallen into. “I think I’m going to go. I’ve been crashing on your guys’ thing for way too long. It’s time you got back to really doing the family business.”
“This is family Y/N.” He says roughly, pointing back towards the half-open door of the motel room. “We’re family.” His hand falls back listlessly to his side as his kaleidoscopic eyes fall on you, boring into your eyes as he looks for some sign that you understand the implication of his words; some sign that you heard what he couldn’t bring himself to actually say.
“I know Dean.” You whisper, that broken, hopeless feeling settling back in your chest as his eyes read the emotions you can’t hide. “But this-” you gesture wildly between the two of you, “This, us, isn’t going to happen. You’ve made that perfectly clear.”
“Y/N, wait.” His voice is thick, his hand reaching out, grabbing your hand, effectively stopping your movement. He falls silent as the air between the two of you cracks with an unnamable charge. You find yourself leaning forward, the distance between the two of you dissipating. His eyes drift to your lips, lingering there before he slowly drags them back up to yours. His head tilts forward, coming even closer to yours. Your breath mingles with his, your lips only a breath away from his own. Your heart begins to beat faster in your chest, the anticipation of finally feeling his lips against yours seizing your body. Dean hesitates there a moment and you can almost taste his lips on yours before he pulls back.
He doesn’t say anything but you can see it written in his face, the fear and guilt shining like light through the cracks of his mask. You wait, hoping that you were seeing something that wasn’t there, but he remains silent.
You pick your duffle up off the scuffed, strangely stained sidewalk, hauling it up and over your shoulder before making your way towards the nearly vacant main street. He doesn’t stop you, he can’t knowing full well what a life with him would mean for you. Instead, he lets you go, watching as you walk away, his heart ripping away from his chest as you, unknowingly, take it with you.
Warnings: language, angst, violence, terror, pain, and overall, just a dark fic
Word count: 2664
Prompt: “No one can find you here, so you might as well stop screaming.”
A/N: This fic is for @thatfanficstuff ‘s 5k writing challenge with the prompt - “No one can find you here, so you might as well stop screaming.” Congratulations again darling! Such an amazing milestone! This is a dark fic y’all, so please read the warnings before proceeding. Without further ado, here it is!
Warnings: language, angst, violence, terror, pain, and overall, just a dark fic
Word count: 2664
Prompt: “No one can find you here, so you might as well stop screaming.”
A/N: This fic is for @thatfanficstuff ‘s 5k writing challenge with the prompt - “No one can find you here, so you might as well stop screaming.” Congratulations again darling! Such an amazing milestone! This is a dark fic y’all, so please read the warnings before proceeding. Without further ado, here it is!
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.
