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.
