#hurt!Dean | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

enigmalynne · 2 months ago

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Goodbye To You - Dean x Y/N, Dean x Carmen

Title – Goodbye To You Pairings – DeanXCarmen, Y/N, Sam Word Count – 6,106 Warnings – ANGST, absolutely wrong use of medical terms and practices, confused Dean Prompt – Character A has to watch Character B fall in love with someone else.

“Hey, stranger,” Y/N said, coming up behind Sam at the bar. He turned and looked at you, a smile breaking across his face. He stood and pulled you into a tight hug.

“Hey, sweetheart,” Sam says quietly. Once they break, she pulls a stool beside her best friend. She and the brothers grew close after they showed up in her clinic one evening when a hunt went wrong. Being the only doctor on staff that night was a blessing as she grew up in the hunter’s world before breaking free for medical school.

“How did you get here before your brother? Isn’t he the one who prefers the bar to being at home?” Y/N asked as she waved down the bartender.

“There’s something you should know about Dean before he gets here,” Sam starts but gets interrupted by his brother walking up to them.

“Y/N!!” Dean shouts. She turns and looks at him with bright, excited eyes and a wide smile. Jumping off her chair, she throws herself into Dean’s arms, and he spins her around, laughing. Before Y/N could lean in and kiss him, Dean turned and held his hand to a woman watching the interaction with amusement.

“Y/N, I want you to meet someone. Someone important to me,” Dean said. Y/N watches as the dark-haired woman takes Dean’s hand, intertwining their fingers. Her smile falters slightly. “Y/N, this is Carmen. My fiancé.” Y/N’s mouth drops open in shock, her eyes wide as she takes in their linked hands, but she recovers quickly.

“You… your fiancé…” Y/N stutters, glancing at Sam. He gives Y/N a sympathetic smile and nods. “I… I had no idea.”

“I’ve heard so much about you from both these guys. I can’t wait to get to know the most important woman in their lives,” Carmen said, stepping forward and embracing Y/N in a hug. She startles but hugs Carmen.

“Well, second most important now,” Dean says, and the pain that binds Y/N’s chest takes her breath away momentarily. Y/N blinks quickly to hide the tears that rush to her lash line. Dean watches the two girls hug before leaning over and ordering two beers.

“I think we are going to become great friends,” Carmen said, pulling back but keeping her hands on Y/N’s shoulders. Y/N nodded, and a forced smile was on her face.

“Yeah!” Y/N ground out in a happy voice. Dean handed Carmen her beer and then pointed over his shoulder.

“We’re going to grab a pool table; join us.”

“Oh, Sam and I need to get drinks first,” Y/N said, leaning on the bar top. She tried to make it look casual and not like it was holding her up. Dean’s expression dropped as he realized they didn’t have drinks before them.

“Oh, shit. Sorry guys, lemme grab the first round,” he muttered, trying to flag the bartender down again. Y/N shook her head and waved her hand.

“Don’t worry about it. Go grab a table, and we’ll be over there shortly.”

“You sure?”

“Absolutely.”

“Okay.”

Dean grabbed Carmen’s hand and kissed her forehead, leading her to the pool tables. Y/N watched them walk away before turning and facing the bar, her eyes burning.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Y/N breathed, her hands gripping the counter tightly. Sam frowned, observing her. He knew how deep Y/N’s feelings went for his older brother.

“I tried to get it out before he got here; he just was faster than I expected,” he said quietly. Y/N nodded, eyes staring blindly at the bar top. She barely hears Sam order two tequila shots, Y/N’s comfort liquor.

“How long?” she asked.

“Almost a year,” Sam answered. Y/N laughed without humor. “What?”

“We were still fucking around last year,” she said flatly, reaching for one of the shot glasses the bartender placed in front of them. She threw the tequila back and barely flinched at the burn, the pain in her heart far worse than that in her throat.

“Yeah, I know,” Sam replied. “I told him if he was going to get serious with Carmen, he had to tell you and call it off. I guess he didn’t say anything to you, though.”

“No, he didn’t,” Y/N whispered, shaking her head. “But it explains why he’s been so distant. I don’t think he realizes that you and I talk more now.” Sam ran a hand up and down her back, offering subtle comfort. Y/N closed her eyes and took a shaky breath as she shook her head. A few stray tears filled her cheeks, and she wiped them away violently.

Enough. He made his decision, and it wasn’t you. Be a big girl and get through tonight. You can cry about it back in the hotel room… her inner voice growled at her. She took a deep breath and let it out slowly, a shiver going through her. When Y/N opened her eyes again, they were dry and distant. She lifted her head to look at Sam with a smile. Sam studied his friend with a frown. Y/N simply shrugged and reached for her glass.

“What?” she asked.

“What?” he parroted.

“Things happen for a reason, right?” Y/N asked quietly. She held her glass out for him to toast, and after a long pause, he picked up his glass and clinked it against hers. She threw back the second shot of tequila, wincing slightly, before ordering a beer and another round for Sam.

“C’mon. Now we have to beat them.”

“It’s been fun, you guys, but I need to call it a night.”

“It’s only 9:30!” Dean exclaimed, one arm thrown around Carmen.

“I’ve got an early morning tomorrow,” she said, reaching for her bag.

“What could you possibly have tomorrow morning that is more important than hanging out with us right now?” Dean scoffed. Y/N threw a questioning look at Sam, who shook his head slightly. Looks like we are all keeping secrets now, she thought to herself with a sigh. Y/N shook her head and dug into her wallet for a couple of twenties to pay for her drinks. Sam placed a hand on hers to stop her.

“I’ve got you,” he said, causing her to look up. She shot him a soft smile.

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah, I’m sure,” Sam said with a smile, squeezing her hand. She nodded, closed her wallet, and shoved it back in her bag. “Are you staying with us or…”

“I’ve got a hotel,” Y/N answered, her eyes darting to the couple across from her before returning to Sam. “They got me a hotel for a few nights, figured the least I can do is take them up on their hospitality.”

“Wait, so you aren’t staying with us?” Dean asked. He moved his arm from around Carmen and leaned forward on his elbows. “You always stay with us. And who is they? What’s going on?”

“Well,” Y/N hesitated, looking at Carmen, who watched the interaction quietly. “Things have changed now, Dean.”

“Changed?” he muttered quietly, turning to look at Carmen. Carmen, who was now looking at Dean with a raised brow. “Oh.”

“Here, let me walk you to your rental,” Sam said. Y/N nodded.

“Okay. It was awesome meeting you, Carmen. Dean, don’t do anything stupid,” Y/N said with a tight smile. “I’ll see you guys tomorrow afternoon, okay? I’ll come by around five?”

“Sounds great, Y/N. See you then,” Carmen said, watching Sam walk her to the door. Once they were out of sight, she turned and looked at her unusually quiet fiancé and raised a brow.

“So, babe,” she started, picking up her beer bottle. “Anything you want to fill me in on?”

“What time is your interview at Lawrence Memorial?” Sam asked. Y/N smiled reluctantly.

“Nine a.m. I was hoping to get into the emergency department here. It would have been nice to settle down here with you guys and grow some roots. But if he’s engaged to Carmen and it's serious, it might be for nothing,” Y/N said. The two walked up to a white Honda Accord.

“You could still come back, make a home here. It’d be awesome to see you more regularly,” Sam said.

“I don’t know. The whole point was to come back here and commit to Dean, you know? Tell him how I feel and make a real go at it. There’s no point now,” she said dejectedly. When she realized what she said, her eyes flew open. “No, Sam, that’s not what I meant…”

“I know what you meant, don’t worry,” Sam said calmly, though he was slightly stung. “I know you’re hurting right now, so don’t worry about it.”

“I just don’t see the point,” Y/N said quietly. “I don’t want to be reminded about how little I meant to Dean every day.”

“You know what? Go through the interview anyway and see how you like it. You might find that the hospital is exactly what you want anyway. You’ve been talking about wanting a change for a long time, and this could be it. Besides, you need to do this for you, not for him. He doesn’t deserve you anyhow,” Sam reminded her. Y/N smiled and reached up to hug Sam tightly.

“I love you, you know that?” she said quietly.

“Of course you do,” he said, squeezing her back. “Now go get some rest and nail that interview.”

“Hi, I have a nine a.m. appointment with Doctor James Montgomery. I’m Y/N Y/L/N,” she said to the receptionist at the front of the hospital. Y/N watched as the kind older woman typed into the system and then nodded her head.

“Yes, I see you right here. If you would take a seat, I’ll page Dr. Montgomery down, and he will be right with you,” she said, pointing to a row of chairs nearby. Y/N nodded her head and sat down. She brushed a strand of brown hair behind her ear, then smoothed out her skirt as she waited.

“Dr. Y/L/N,” a handsome man said, dressed in scrubs and carrying a file. Y/N stood up and smiled at him. She accepted his handshake and nodded in greeting. “Welcome to Lawrence Memorial.”

A tour of the emergency department, an interview with Dr. Montgomery and three other doctors, and a review of her qualifications. Y/N walked out of the hospital three hours later, feeling confident that she had nailed the interview. The emergency department, while smaller than the one she worked at in Kentucky, was clean and state-of-the-art. They obviously cared about the patients that came into their hospital and were thorough in their caretaking. The hospital had some of the latest technology on the market and was in line to get some of the newest pieces. She watched how the doctors and nurses worked and recognized a seamless flow, a trust between everyone there that some ERs didn’t have… including her home in Kentucky.

She could do good work here if she decided to take the job.

If she was offered the job.

Getting into her rental, she sped off to the hotel to change into something more casual before meeting Sam for lunch. The two book nerds would meet at their favorite cafe for sandwiches before hitting the old bookstore for research. Then, they would meet with Dean and Carmen, something she still had to work up the courage for.

“It was 20 questions last night after you left,” Sam said casually, popping a potato chip into his mouth. Y/N’s eyes snapped to Sam’s face despite her sipping her sweet tea, her chicken salad sandwich and chips untouched.

“Really? By who?” she asked.

“Who do you think?” he replied with a smirk. “Carmen.” Y/N stared at Sam briefly, then smirked back at him.

“She didn’t know about me either, did she?” Y/N asked. Sam shook his head.

“Nope,” he grinned, tossing another chip into his mouth. Y/N laughed lightly as she picked up half of her sandwich.

“Well, I’m kind of happy I’m not the only one who was blindsided last night then,” she said, biting into the chicken salad. She wiped her mouth with a napkin as she swallowed. “He deserves it for being a jerk about the whole situation. I hope it was uncomfortable as hell.”

“Oh, it was. ‘You slept with her, didn’t you?’ ‘Was it while we were together?’ ‘Tell me the truth, you’re still in love with her, aren’t you?’” Sam quoted in a mocking tone. Y/N bit her lip as mixed feelings banged around her chest. She was glad Dean was getting lectured, but at the same time, she hated that this was why.

“You’d think he’d have told his fiance the truth even though he didn’t have the balls to tell me,” she grumbled, again picking up her tea. She took a long sip and stared out the window at nothing in particular, pain flashing in her eyes as she thought about the two. No, we agreed we’d let it go, she told herself. Sam frowned and reached over to grab her hand.

“Hey,” he said quietly. Y/N looked up at him and forced a smile on her face.

“I’m fine. Really,” she said. “Let’s finish up. I want to hit up that bookstore so we can finish that research you need done.”

Ultimately, Y/N ended up taking the job with Lawrence Medical. The offer was too good to refuse, so she returned to Kentucky to pack her things. Sam flew out a week later, helped her pack her belongings into a Uhaul, hitch her old Mustang onto a trailer, and drove the hours away with her back to Lawrence.

“I picked out an apartment for you,” Sam said a few hours into the drive, between bites of Twizzlers. “I know you’ll love it, so I dropped the deposit. It’s halfway between the hospital and our place, has two bedrooms, and is one of the few complexes with a fireplace.”

“You didn’t have to do that,” Y/N said, a sweet smile on her face.

“Don’t worry, I took the money out of Dean’s half of the savings,” he laughed.

“Oh, well, in that case, I’m totally okay with it,” she said with a wave of a hand. She took a bite of the red licorice candy and stared out the window for some time before asking the question she didn’t want the answer to. “When is their wedding supposed to be?”

“Sometime in the next four months. Carmen wants a winter wedding, and Dean will do whatever Carmen wants,” Sam said quietly.

“Dean hates the cold. He prefers the summer,” she muttered under her breath. Sam glanced at her, taking notice of the sadness in her eyes. He frowned but didn’t say anything.

“Whatever, it's not my problem, right? I’ll get over it,” she said to no one in particular. “I need to focus on getting to Lawrence and being ready to go to the hospital tomorrow to pick up my badge and schedule.”

“I thought you had another week to get settled and everything?” Sam asked. Y/N shrugged.

“The busier I am, the less I think about things,” she replied, pouting. “If I’m going to get over my feelings about Dean, I need other things to focus on. Throwing myself into work is a good start. Setting up my new apartment will be a good second. Did you say it has a fireplace?”

The next morning

“I’m glad you came in today to get situated,” Dr. Montgomery said, escorting Y/N around the emergency room. “We can set up your locker and get you the necessary keys. Our dress code is ID’d scrubs, and while it will take a little while to get the embroidered ones with your name on them, you should be fine as long as you wear your ID badge. You don’t have to wear the white coat if you don’t want to… ”

“Mass trauma coming in!” the head nurse shouted. “City bus versus two cars. Unknown how many are hurt. Get the beds ready.” Everyone around them started to scramble, grabbing supplies and preparing the hospital beds for incoming patients. Doctor Montgomery looked over at Y/N, who was watching the organized chaos with barely controlled eagerness.

“Can you start early?” the doctor asked, causing Y/N to grin slightly.

“Just get me a clean pair of scrubs and some Crocs,” she replied. Doctor Montgomery nodded and ushered her toward the doctor’s lounge just as the first victims arrived. Grabbing a pair of teal scrubs and a pair of gray crocs, Y/N changed quickly and threw her items into an empty locker. She pulled her stethoscope out of her backpack and wrapped it around her neck before sliding a few pens into the pockets in her sleeves.

“Doctor Y/L/N,” a voice said, causing her to pause and turn around. A man stood in the doorway and held out a plastic badge to her. She took it and looked at the front, noticing her photo. She looked confused.

“Monty told me to give that to you. They took the photo you had on your driver’s license and used that to make a temporary ID so you can help out,” the man said. He flashed a bright smile toward her as she nodded. “I’m Damien, but everyone calls me DJ.”

“Y/N,” she said, clipping the ID to the front of her scrubs. DJ winked at her as they exited the doctor’s lounge.

“Welcome to Lawrence.”

The next few hours passed in a blur of patients, new nurses, and names she knew she’d never remember. Her once pristine makeup was now spotted with sweat, and her hair fell out of her once tidy bun. Y/N had just finished with a young girl who had a broken arm and a few lacerations that required stitches.

“Thank you so much, Doctor Y/L/N,” the weary and exhausted mother said as she cuddled her young daughter close to her. Y/N simply smiled and nodded, escorting them out of the emergency room. She made a few more notes in the chart in her hands before dropping them off at the desk nearby.

“What’s next?” she asked, sliding up to DJ, who reviewed the patient list. Just then, the doors burst open, and she watched as two paramedics brought in another patient… or rather, two patients. One was on the gurney, and the other was running alongside it.

“Dean?” Y/N questioned, watching as he ran past her.

“What have you got?” DJ asked, turning to walk with the gurney.

“Woman in her mid-thirties, BP is 175 over 96, the pulse is 120 and going up, she was trapped in one of the cars that was hit by the bus. They just got her out,” one of the paramedics rattled off. Y/N nodded as she listened and put on another pair of clean gloves. She frowned as she recognized Carmen on the gurney.

“She awake at all, or been unconscious the entire time?” Y/N asked.

“Boyfriend said she was awake for a few minutes but then blacked out and hasn’t woken up yet.”

“Trauma 2, make a hole, people!” DJ yelled, pushing the bed with them. Y/N hopped up on the gurney and started to do her checks. Suddenly, Dean was in the way, trying to get to Carmen.

“Dean, you gotta let me work,” Y/N said, pushing Dean’s hands away so she could get to Carmen and start an IV. “Dean, Stop! Fucking… DJ!!”

“On it,” the other doctor said, stepping away and pulling off his gloves. He stepped up to Dean and took a good look at him. Blood was coming from his hairline, and his eyes were wide and unfocused. The way he was holding his shoulder wasn’t good either. “C’mon, man, let’s get you checked out.”

“I gotta stay with Carmen,” he slurred out. Check another box for a possible concussion, DJ thought. Gently taking the moving arm Dean had, DJ pulled the man away.

“She’s in good hands with Doctor Y/L/N; why don’t we get you tended to? Does your head hurt you? What’s going on with this arm?” DJ tried again. Dean shook his head.

“I’m fine, lemme go.”

“Dude, don’t make me sedate you,” DJ said with a bit of humor. Just then, Y/N came from the curtained room and stood aside as they watched the bed rush off to the elevators.

“Don’t be a dick, Dean. You’re going to be no fucking good to her like this. Now get checked out, or I’m going to give DJ permission to sedate your ass and confine you to a bed,” Y/N snarked, her temper getting the best of her. DJ blinked at Y/N’s words to the patient.

“But, Carmen…”

“...is going up to surgery and will be there for a few hours, which means we can focus on your dislocated shoulder and that concussion you're most certainly sporting. Now, let DJ work on you, and I’ll call Sam and get him down here to help you. You’re gonna be no damn good to anyone acting up like this,” Y/N said, filling out a form on a clipboard. “DJ, if he gives you any more shit, you have my permission to sedate his ass.”

“Hey!” Dean shouted.

“I’m still listed on your emergency contacts next to Sam,” she said in a sing-song voice before walking away. Dean stared at her deliriously before looking up at DJ, who shrugged his shoulders.

“You heard her, man.”

Dean slowly woke up in an unfamiliar room to steady beeping. He cautiously looked around, wincing when his head protested the movement. Just then, the door to the room quietly opened, and he noticed that Y/N stuck her head inside.

“Looks like you got yourself a bed anyway,” Y/N said, walking into the dimly lit room. Dean grunted as he saw who it was. Sammy followed close behind.

“How you feeling there, big guy?” Y/N asked, looking at the monitors attached to Dean.

“Like I got hit by a city bus,” he groaned. Sam chuckled a bit, reaching over to squeeze Dean’s hand. Dean had a sling on one arm and a bandage on his forehead where the cut was made from the glass.

“At least you weren’t driving the Impala,” Sam said, causing Dean to grunt in agreement. Y/N studiously ignored the two, checking Dean’s vitals and making notes in the chart. The brothers chatted, and soon, Y/N was finished. She placed her hands on her hips as she faced them.

“Everything looks good,” she explained. “They will most likely keep you overnight for observation due to the severity of the concussion, which is normal, and I figure you’re going to want to be here anyway for Carmen. I arranged it so they can bring her here when she is out of recovery, and you two can share the room.” Surprise colored Sam’s expression while Dean stared at Y/N with worry.

“How is she?” he asked.

“She made it through the surgery just fine. They were able to isolate the internal bleeding and stop it, gave her some blood, and her vitals stabilized. She’s in recovery right now being monitored, and they should be coming down with her soon,” Y/N explained plainly.

“Oh, thank God,” Dean breathed. Y/N looked over at Sam and nodded her head.

“If there is anything else you need, just press the nurse’s button, and they can help you,” she explained, turning toward the door.

“Wait, you’re not staying?” Dean asked. Y/N paused and turned back toward the man lying in the bed. She would stay with them any time one of them had been hurt.

“I’ve got work to do, Dean,” she explained gently, her voice soft. “I need to check on other patients from the crash.”

“So, you work here now? When did that happen?” he asked, his voice getting angry. “When did we start keeping secrets from each other, huh? You’ve been acting off ever since you got here.”

“Me,” Y/N scoffed, placing a hand on her chest. “I’ve been acting off.”

“You’ve been distant, you aren’t staying with us, you barely talk to me anymore,” Dean ticked off. Sam placed a hand on his brother’s arm, trying to stop him from carrying on.

“Dean, c’mon man, now’s not the time,” Sam tried. Dean shook him off.

“You know you’ve noticed it, Sammy. She’s barely around us anymore; when she is, she clams up and barely speaks to us. What happened? We used to be best friends,” Dean said, looking at his brother. He turned to look at Y/N, staring at Dean, desperately trying to keep her emotions at bay. “You were my best friend. What happened to that?”

“Dean…” Y/N started but was interrupted.

“No, I don’t want to hear some stupid excuse. I want the truth, damnit,” Dean growled, a hand reaching his head. He leaned back onto the bed with his eyes closed, his breathing deepening as he tried to control the pain ricocheting in his head. Sam watched in sympathy as Y/N fought back overwhelming emotions, torn between lashing out and walking away.

“Oh, Dr. Y/L/N, you’re already here,” a voice said. “We were just about to have you paged.” She turned to the now open door and saw that two orderlies were bringing Carmen into the room as she slept off the anesthesia. She stepped out of the way and allowed them access to the opposite side of the room, watching as they connected the machines that would track her heart rate, blood pressure, and the like. Dean watched with interest the happenings in the room.

“Is she okay? Why isn’t she awake yet?” he asked nervously.

“She is still sleeping off the anesthesia,” Y/N answered quietly. One of the orderlies handed Y/N the chart just as a nurse walked in.

“Dr. Y/L/N,” the cheerful voice said. Y/N shot the kind nurse a smile. “You’re still here.”

“I was just visiting some friends who happened to be in the crash,” she said, making a few notes. “Carmen is doing well; will just need to sleep off the anesthesia.”

“Yes, doctor,” the nurse said, doing some checks on her own. Soon, both the orderlies and the nurse had left the room. Y/N took a deep breath and turned to look at Dean, who was eyeing Carmen with worry.

“Dean,” Y/N started quietly. “This isn’t the place to have the conversation you are so intent on having.” Dean turned away from Carmen and looked at her, confused.

“What?” he asked. Y/N just shook her head.

“Get some rest. I’ll check back in a bit.” Dean watched her nod her head, glance at Sam, and offer a sad smile before leaving the room. Then, he turned to look at his little brother suspiciously.

“You know what’s going on, don’t you?” he asked. Sam nodded.

“You really should have told her about Carmen sooner, is all I’m saying,” Sam explained. “She is heartbroken and feeling betrayed, yet she still took the job here to be close to us. What does that say? It’s gonna take a while for her to get over you, but she’ll be okay.”

“She was in love with me?” Dean asked, his voice hurt and distant.

“Is. Is in love with you,” Sam corrected.

“Why didn’t she say anything?”

“She was going to at the bar that night when she first got into town. Then you sprung Carmen on her, and she kept her mouth shut instead.”

“And you knew all of this.”

“Yep.”

“How?”

“She’s my best friend, Dean. Who do you think she’s gonna talk to?” Dean grew quiet, lost in thought about how he should handle things. This new information now confused him. Sure, he loved Y/N, but was he in love with her? No, of course not; he was in love with Carmen. Right? Right.

Right.

A quiet moan from the bed next to them caught their attention, and Dean’s introspection of his love life was put on hold as he tried to get up and check on his fiance. Despite everything, she still needed him to be strong for her as she had just come out of surgery for internal bleeding.

“Carmen,” he breathed as she opened her eyes.

Almost four hours later, Y/N finally had a moment to go back and check on Dean and Carmen. She quietly opened the door to the room and peeked her head in, finding both patients fast asleep. Sam looked up and smirked at her as she entered the room.

“Lemme guess,” she started quietly. “Someone gave the nurses a hard time and got his ass sedated.”

“Yup!” Sam answered cheerfully. The two shared a quiet laugh. Y/N walked to Dean’s side and gently ran her hand through his hair, looking at him affectionately. Dean shifted in his sleep, turning his head toward her, and the small gesture made her chest ache for something that was no longer hers.

“I want to hate him so badly,” she whispered. “I want him to be happy; I just thought that meant with me. The whole point of me taking this job was to be closer to you guys and to give us a real go of it. Instead, he found someone else. He couldn’t even tell me until I didn’t have a chance.”

“I told him everything,” Sam said softly. Y/N scoffed as she looked over at Sam, her shoulders dropping.

“Sam,” she complained.

“He needed to know,” he explained. Y/N shook her head.

“No, he didn’t. I would have come up with something that could have explained everything that didn’t include my emotional trauma,” she answered. “God, Sam.”

“Y/N…” he started.

“He’s gonna think I’m weak. He’s gonna think I’m pathetic.” Y/N’s eyes filled with tears.

“He doesn’t think either of those things.”

“Well, he should because I am weak and pathetic.”

“Y/N, this isn’t on you,” Sam explained. “This is on him. He’s the one who didn’t tell you about Carmen and, in turn, gave you false hope. You are allowed to feel betrayed and heartbroken. You are allowed to feel angry.”

“Oh, I feel angry. I'm angry at myself for ever believing this could have worked out in the first place,” Y/N whispered. Sam sighed. She looked at Dean for a long moment, then leaned over and kissed his temple.

“I need to get back to the ER. Call me if you need anything,” Y/N said to Sam with a smile. Sam simply nodded. “Love you bestie,” she said in a sing-song voice, causing Sam to chuckle.

“Yeah, love you too,” he responded.

Y/N stepped out of the room, her smile fading as the door clicked softly shut behind her. She stood in the hallway momentarily, taking a deep breath to steady herself. The quiet hum of the hospital around her was familiar and grounding, even as her emotions threatened to overwhelm her.

It wasn’t the first time she’d had to put her feelings aside for the sake of others, and it likely wouldn’t be the last. But this time, it hurt more than she thought it would. She’d come back to be close to them, to him. And yet, here she was, realizing that her place wasn’t by Dean’s side after all.

Her phone buzzed in her pocket, a reminder of the dozen other patients waiting for her care. With one last glance at the closed door, Y/N squared her shoulders and turned toward the ER. She had a job to do, and she wouldn’t let her heartbreak get in the way of helping people who needed her.

Back in the room, Sam watched as Dean stirred, waking slowly. Carmen’s soft breathing filled the space, her presence grounding him. Dean glanced at Sam, his eyes clouded with confusion and guilt.

“She was here, wasn’t she?” Dean asked, his voice rough from sleep.

“Yeah,” Sam said, keeping his tone even. “She’s got work to do, though. You know, saving lives and all.”

Dean let out a small, humorless laugh. “She always did have a way of putting everyone else first.”

Sam didn’t reply; he just leaned back in his chair and watched his brother carefully.

“She’ll be okay,” Sam said after a long pause. “She’s stronger than you think.”

Dean nodded but didn’t respond, his gaze shifting to Carmen. His hand moved instinctively to hers, squeezing gently. She was his future, and he knew he couldn’t let anything—or anyone—come between them.

Hours later, as Y/N’s shift finally ended, she checked on the brothers one last time before heading home for the night. It had been a quick 24-hour shift, and she was exhausted. Knocking on the door quietly, she walked into the room and saw that Sam was the only one awake again. She smiled at the younger brother.

“You sleep at all?” She asked him.

“A little,” Sam answered. “Dean got up and wanted to sit next to Carmen so we moved him over there. He’s been calmer since she woke up a few hours ago.” Y/N nodded and walked over to them to check on them.

“Speaking of Dean, I’ve decided something,” she said. Sam raised an eyebrow at his best friend in anticipation, worried that he wasn’t going to like the words that came out of her mouth next.

“I’m done waiting, Sam,” she said quietly, setting down the chart. She looked over at him with a sad smile. “Done hoping he’ll wake up and see me how I’ve always seen him. It’s not fair to him, to Carmen, or to me. I came here to start over, and that’s exactly what I’m going to do.”

Sam frowned, concern clouding his face. “You’re not leaving, are you?”

She shook her head. “No. I’m staying. But like you said, I’m doing this for me. This job, this place — it’s a chance for me to build a life on my terms. I don’t need to run just because he doesn’t love me back the way I wanted. He’s still one of my best friends.”

Sam nodded. “You’re stronger than you think, Y/N.”

Y/N gave him a small, bittersweet smile. “I’m starting to believe that.”

The two of them sat silently for a moment, the soft hum of hospital machines filling the room. Finally, Y/N glanced at Dean one last time. He looked peaceful, his hand resting protectively on Carmen’s, even asleep. It was a picture of the life he’d chosen, which didn’t include her.

And that was okay. It had to be.

“I’m gonna head out and get some sleep. It was a long shift,” she said softly, pulling her bag onto her shoulder. “Tell him I was here if he asks.”

Sam stood and followed her to the door. “He’s gonna feel bad, Y/N.”

“Good,” she said with a faint smirk, her old fire returning momentarily. “But don’t let him dwell on it too long. He’s got what he wants.”

Sam grinned despite himself, then sobered. “You’re still my best friend, you know.”

“And you’re still mine,” Y/N replied, her voice warm. The two hugged before Y/N slipped out of the room and left the hospital.

Walking out to her car, she felt a strange sense of peace. The air was cool, and the stars were just beginning to peek through the darkening sky. She paused by her car, looking up at the vast expanse above her.

It would take some time for her to get over her romantic feelings for Dean, but they had been friends for a long time. She wouldn’t abandon decades of friendship because he chose another woman as his wife. But she was going to have to find closure on her own.

And as she drove home, she resolved to do just that.

Tomorrow would be another day—a day to heal, to grow, and to focus on what really mattered. She felt ready to let go for the first time in a long time.

And that was enough.

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godmadeaterribleerror · 3 months ago

Text

I'll Crawl Home

Main Masterlist - Dean Masterlist

Read on A03!

Tags: Dean Winchester/Female Reader, memory loss, angst, pining (unrequited love but not really), smut (blowjob, fingering, p in v sex, creampie), love confessions, no use of y/n

Summary/Warnings: You don't know who these men are, but they seem to know you. Your body seems to like the Handsome one a lot. But the more you manage to remember, the more lost you feel.

Author's Note: This might be one of my favorites. Enjoy!!

Title from Work Song by Hozier

Word Count: 8.6k

You don’t know who these men are.

There are three of them, all gathered around you with frowning faces and drawn brows, and they seem worried. The tall one in the middle keeps saying your name and asking the one in the tie and trench coat if he can figure out what’s wrong with you. Trench Coat keeps snapping variations of no, he can’t, because the object was guarded against outside interference.

The third one is silent. He’s a little behind you and wearing flannel like Tall, but his hair is shorter, he’s less lanky, and he’s touching you. His hand is on your arm, his grip so tight it almost hurts, and you’d… barely even noticed. Not because he’s almost inhumanly handsome, or because when he does grumble something in his voice is deep and soothing to your mind, but because your body hadn’t seemed to really register it. And if it had, it hadn’t been worried at all.

But you’re worried. As your brain starts to kick into gear—dragging itself out of an odd, hazy sludge—you are very worried about why Trench Coat, Tall, and Handsome are so close to you. Why Trench Coat keeps saying you’re sick—you’re tired, but overall you feel fine—and why Tall knows your name. Why Handsome is still touching you, why he’s so quiet, why when he looks at you your skin heats and your heart does a little, happy hum.

Why when you yank your arm from Handsome’s grasp, he blinks at you in confusion. Why he says your name so slowly. Why when he reaches back out to you, your body leans forward of its own accord.

“No!” You shout, and it’s more at yourself, but Handsome’s whole face falls, and he looks like he’s been shot, stabbed, and bled out.

“Shit, she’s talking- Hey,” Tall says your name, reaching to grab your shoulder, and you start to crawl away from him. “Can you- Wait, where are you going-“

“She seems to be experiencing panic.” Trench Coat tilts his head, glancing over your shoulder. “She is likely trying to get to Dean.”

You follow his gaze, and your body is moving to where Handsome—Dean?—had backed away.

“Fuck!” You try to scramble to your feet, ready to run for your life, but you barely make it to your knees before darkness clouds your vision and your head starts to spin.

All three men shout your name, but Dean’s deep voice is the loudest, and when the world grows clear again, he the one who’s holding you upright.

Your body is slumped into him. It’s the same way you’ve slumped into your bed. The same way you used to slump against you mom when you were a kid, because you never thought she could hurt you. Because she’d felt like the safest place to be in the world.

But you don’t know Dean.

“Don’t- don’t touch me-“ You try to shake him off, but he doesn’t let go. He just lowers you carefully down and moves away, staring at you with an expression that makes your heart ache for reasons you don’t understand. “Who are you people?!”

Tall says your name again. How the fuck does he know your name. “It’s just us, it’s-“ Tall moves to touch you, and frowns when you flinch away.

At least you still know how to flinch away.

“I don’t knowwho the fuck you are,” you hiss at him. “Or what the fuck is happening, but I want to go home.” You hug yourself, everything suddenly cold, your voice growing small. “Please let me go home.”

Trench Coat nods. “I am able to-“

“Cas.” Dean grunts from behind you, and Trench Coat—Cas—frowns at him. “Don’t.”

“She has requested something I can assist with-“

“She doesn’t fucking know who you are.” Dean snaps, stomping past you, never looking down. It makes the ache in your heart worse. “What the hell do you think is gonna happen when you zap her back to a home she doesn’t remember?”

Tall shakes his head. “We don’t know that she doesn’t remember the bunker-“

“Yeah? Hey,” Dean says your name, his glare and tone firm. Your body has a very confusing reaction to it, your thighs squeezing together as your stomach fills with heat. “You believe in angels?”

You blink. “Like, with wings?”

Dean gives Tall a pointed look, and Tall just shakes his head again.

“That doesn’t prove anything-“

“It proves enough, Sammy.”

“No, it doesn’t!” Tall—Sammy—crosses his arms, glaring at Dean. “She remembers her own name, it’s not unreasonable to think she might remember her home!”

“That’s cause her name is her name! She doesn’t remember who we are! She’s not going to remember anything else-“

“It may be productive to find out what she does remember before we make assumptions.” Cas cuts Dean off with clipped words, and barely flinches as Dean glowers at him. You’re impressed. Dean seems scary.

Even if your body doesn’t seem to agree.

“Good idea, Cas, let’s just-“ Sammy drops to the floor in front of you. “Hi, I’m-“

“Sammy?”

“It’s actually Sam- wait.” Sam blinks at you. “You remember my name?“

“No.” You shake your head, nodding up to Dean. “He said it.”

“Oh.” Sam follows your gaze with a small frown. “Do you know his name?”

“It’s Dean.” You whisper, and another strange expression flashes over Dean’s face. “But I don’t remember it, I just heard it. I’m sorry.”

Dean’s jaw clenches, and Sam sighs.

“Don’t apologize, we’re just- It’s complicated.” Sam runs a hand through his hair, scanning carefully over your face. “Can I ask you a few questions?”

You nod—you don’t seem to have a choice, and you’re not nearly as panicked as you should be—and Sam swallows.

“Okay, you know your name, so how about- What year is it?”

You tell him, and he nods slowly. It goes like that as he asks you the date, the president, how old you are, and when your birthday is. It only flips when he asks you where home is, you answer, and all three men gape at you.

“What’s wrong?” You look between their identical expressions of worry. “That’s where I-“

Sam says your name carefully, his voice tense. “You haven’t lived there in almost six years.”

You blink at him. “No… I- I live there now.”

“No, you-“ Sam lets out a long breath. “How about this, do you know what your job is?”

“Yeah, I’m a librarian.”

That was clearly not the answer they wanted, but Sam pushes on. “Okay, what kind of car do you drive?”

“I don’t drive.” You glance up at Cas and Dean, and they’re exchanging a taut look. This is so fucking weird. “I, um, I take the bus.”

“Fuck!” Dean shouts suddenly, throwing his hands in the air. He sounds agitated. It’s making you agitated. “Goddamnit, she doesn’t remember anything-“

“Actually, she seems to remember selective things.” Cas lowers down as well, his gaze seeming to drive right into your soul. “Are you aware of how you arrived here, in this room?”

You aren’t. You try to remember, and it hurts. Your whole head lights up with pain and you double-over, but that seems to answer the men’s questions all by itself, and they exchange low, tense words as you lay on the floor.

Dean keeps looking at you. He’s not speaking to you, but he keeps staring at you, and your body always seems to respond to it. His jaw clenches as Cas helps you to your feet, and your legs want to walk right into him. Dean scowls as Sam explains that you do know them—that they’re your friends, and you’re cursed, and they’re taking you somewhere safe to help you—and your skin prickles under the feeling of it. As they move you into a sleek black muscle car and take off down the road, Dean keeps glaring at you in the rearview mirror and you want to reach out and touch him. You think it would be really good to touch him.

You really want to touch him. He’s beautiful, in the shadows and low lights of the highway, and right now it’s really just Dean in the whole universe.

Just Dean. Here. With you.

The wind is cold in your hair and loud in your ears, but the Impala is warm, and the music is louder.

Dean is louder. Singing at the top of his lungs and drumming a little off beat on the wheel, his eyes alight and his smile wide.

He’s warm, too. You giggle and roll your eyes when he makes a terrible joke, and he grabs your face with a strong, rough, warm hand to pulls you into a kiss, all as the road keeps rushing past you-

Cas says your name, and you blink at him. You’re not sure what the fuck just happened.

“Are you experiencing memory recall?”

“I, um, what?”

“Your eyes.” He says, and you notice Sam twisting around to watch from the passenger’s seat. “They began to move in a manner similar to human REM sleep, however you remained awake the whole time. Were you thinking of something you had previously forgotten?”

“I, uh,” you glance in the rearview mirror. Dean’s suddenly fixated on the road, his grip on the wheel white knuckled. “Have I been in this car before?”

“Yeah, you have.” Sam’s words are cautious, his eyes trained on you. “A lot. Cas, you don’t think-“

“I do. I believe it may be our best shot.”

And that’s how it begins. The moment you return to the bunker—a strange, underground building they claim you’ve lived in for years—you’re rushed through the grand tour in the hopes of triggering just a little more of your memory.

You’d consider it useless if it wasn’t working. If your hands didn’t already know how to sort through their strange classification of books. If you didn’t get flashes of laughter and visions of Sam and Dean around a table in what they call the War Room. If Sam doesn’t show you the kitchen, and suddenly your brain is washed over with a memory of sitting at the table, across from him and Dean.

Dean winks at you as Sam tries to show you something on his laptop. You’re going to kill him. He’s being obvious, and a little mean.

It doesn’t stop you from following him out of the kitchen only minutes later, even though it snaps your dignity in half.

“You’ve got something?” Sam’s almost jumping in front of you, and you give him a small smile.

“You drink smoothies.”

“They’re healthy.” Sam shrugs, his voice raising to a shout. “Cas! It’s working!”

Dean shuffles into the kitchen, barely glancing at you. “Cas left. Said he’s going to look for a better fix.”

Sam frowns. “Why didn’t he tell me?”

“He told me. And you should bring her to her room.”

Your eyes widen as Sam nods, rubbing the bridge of his nose.

“Shit, yeah, good idea. C’mon,“ Sam says your name, walking to the hallway. “This should be good for you.”

When you see your room, it does seem like your room. It’s decorated how you’d decorate it, clothing scattered on the floor that you recognize, the walls painted how you’d paint them, but there’s also a shotgun on the dresser and a knife on your bedside stand.

“Shit, sweetheart, this is an awesome gun, where’d you find it?”

You look up at Dean from your bed, fidgeting with your blanket between your fingers. “It was in one of the storage rooms. I can show you later, I think there were a few more.”

“Hell yeah,” he aims it at the wall, his smile easy and boyish. It’s adorable.

You wish he’d stop.

“Dean?”

He hums, still turning the gun in his hands, and you take in a long breath.

“Are we going to talk about it?”

Dean freezes, his eyes wide and almost panicked on yours as he sets the gun back down.

“I don’t think there’s anything to talk about. I mean, it’s us. We can be cool.”

“Cool.”

“Yeah, cool. You have a problem, I take care of it. I have a problem,” he gestures between your bodies with raised brows, and you sigh.

“Okay.”

“Awesome.”

“Yeah.” You smile at him, and this might consume and destroy you. But fuck you, you’re going to let it. “Awesome.”

“You got anything?” Sam asks, and you nod. You might have too much.

And none of it is making any make sense at all.

The week passes like this. More small memories come to you in visions, your head pounds and stabs with pain, Sam hangs over your shoulder and shows you countless places you can navigate but don’t recognize—their dungeon, their gun range, a place called the Dean Cave, a field, and a corner store down the street—all as Dean swirls around your head, but remains just out of sight. Barely crossing your path, looking like a deer in headlights when he does.

But you think you’ve sat with your legs over his lap in the Dean Cave. You’ve trailed after him—holding onto the sleeve of his jacket—in the corner store. You’ve had his body wrapped around yours in the gun range, his voice low and teasing in your ear as he guides your hands.

And the most memories come in your bedroom. Sitting on the mattress with him towering above you, lying on the floor with him under you, giggling as he pins you against the door.

He still won’t look at you. He doesn’t even acknowledge you anymore. He’s locking himself in his room, only coming out to get food, sort through the library, or take his car and leave for hours on end.

Sam is worried.

“This… isn’t like Dean.” He tells you, frowning at the door Dean had just disappeared through. “I don’t know what’s up with him, but you guys were really good friends before. Like, really good.” He gives you an odd look. You’ve been getting a lot of those lately. “There was a while where I was pretty sure that he was finally-“ He shakes his head, cutting himself off. “Never mind. I’ll talk to him later.”

You sleep in your room again. It’s felt strange, because your body doesn’t seem to like your mattress. It doesn’t relax into it like it should, if you’ve really been sleeping here for years. You keep waking up reaching for the other side of the bed. You keep being unable to fall asleep at all because something feels off.

He’s still here when you wake up. His arm heavy over your stomach as he presses your back against his chest, his breath hot on your neck.

You should’ve kicked him out last night. You try to never let him fall asleep next to you, let alone wake up in your bed. It’s cruel to you.

Because now you have to have this, and then let it go. You’ll never be able to wipe the feeling of Dean wrapped around you from your skin, and your muscles will never forget how easy it was to relax when he was holding you.

When you roll over your hands will always know how to linger on his bare, warm chest. Your fingers will always know how to map his every freckle, even if you were blindfolded and submerged underwater.

Your heart will always know to slow down when you look at him. Especially like this. He’s peaceful here. His eyelashes fluttering and his lips parted, his brow dropped to yours as he sleeps.

As he has no way to know that he’s doing it.

He’s vulnerable. Dean’s body is letting him rest with you at his side. It’s letting him fall into a strong sleep with steady breaths and slack muscles, even though there’s something foreign pressed against him.

And that’s why this is cruel. It feeds your hope that this could be more. That Dean could ever see you as you see him, that he’d chose to rest with you because deep down, he loves you like you love him.

Deeply and powerfully. Irrevocably and brutally. Made of gnashing teeth and blood caking your nails, but also simple in loud music and wind, soft in golden streetlamps that cast halos around his head. Concrete. Dependable. You will always love Dean, even if you lose everything else you’ve ever had.

And he will not love you.

And this is cruel.

But you still let your face bury itself in his neck. You still let your nose memorize the evergreen and amber smell of him. You still let his skin leave burning marks on yours, as he stays asleep.

And you just watch him.

You have to drag yourself out of bed. You have to give Dean a close-lipped smile when he walks right past you in the kitchen, and not scream when his skin brushes yours.

It’s not foreign.

It feels like you.

And you’re so lost.

You don’t ask any questions. The few questions you have asked made Sam sad, like you should already know the answer, and he always does this puppy-dog face that breaks your heart. The only questions you’d really want to ask were questions about Dean. About if Sam talked to him, about why—if you’re as close as Sam claims, if these strange snapshots are true—he won’t even look at you. About how he’d looked at you before.

About how you’d looked at him.

But Sam’s too busy for you to even really consider it. He’s calling Cas and someone named Rowena all the time, he’s researching day and night to try and fix you, and he’s coming up with strange new ways to trigger your memory every day.

“Sit there.” He points to the driver’s seat of the Impala, moving around the hood of the car. “You’re driving.”

You shake your head. “I don’t know how to drive stick-“

“Yeah, you do, Dean- fuck.” Sam groans, rubbing his forehead. “Well, let’s try having you sit in it? Just to see if anything happens?”

You nod, and things do happen. When you put your hand on the gear shift, a phantom of a bigger, calloused one covers it, and suddenly you can drive stick. You don’t even have to think about it, you just can.

It might be worse when you think about it. Sam makes you drive—telling you to go somewhere and refusing to specify any possible destinations—and whenever you try to actually dwell on what you’re doing, you make a mistake.

So you let your body take over. You drive the Impala where your hands want you to go, and where they want you to go seems to be a dive bar parking lot.

“Huh.” Sam glances around as you both climb out of the car, a small frown on his face. “I’ve never been here before. I know it’s a stupid question, but do you know where you are?”

“No,” you sigh, letting your feet carry you to the edge of the pavement, letting your knees bend down as you sit on the curb. “Not at all.”

“Shit.” He mutters. “Well, you want a drink while we’re here?”

You nod, Sam goes into the bar, returns with two beers, and drops at your side.

“This is…” Sam glances at you, his voice soft. Apologetic. “I’m really sorry this is happening. I mean, Dean went through something similar a while ago, but at least we had an idea of how to handle that, you know? I’m- I don’t even know where to start here.” He says your name, rolling his bottle between his hands. “All we’ve got is Dean saying you touched a cursed object, but he’s being really weird and when Cas and I went back to the building there was nothing. We’re going to fix this, I promise, but...”

He sighs, trailing off, and you clear your throat. You haven’t just sat with Sam since this—whatever this is—started. This might be your only chance to try to get answers in a way that doesn’t make your skull cave in and your heart burn.

“Can I ask you some stuff?”

Sam nods, and you take a long, slow breath.

“How did I end up here? Doing,” you gesture vaguely to the air. “This.”

A small smile ghosts over Sam’s lips. “Dean and I were hunting a vamp nest, and you were one of the witnesses. You helped us out a little, we told you some stuff about how you deal with vamps, and then you got kidnapped. We- Well, we tried to save you, but by the time we got there you’d kind of saved yourself. You’d covered yourself in dead man’s blood from one of their discarded vics, and none of them would go near you. After it was done, you asked to come with us, and you haven’t left since.”

“And we’re… friends?”

“We are.” Sam says, rubbing his forehead with a sigh. “I mean, I know you and I are. You helped me organize the library when you moved to the bunker. I taught you most of the stuff about the lore, and we made up a game about it. Dean calls it dumb, but he just hates that he’s bad at it. Sometimes you go on runs with me, and then you say you’re never running again. You’re the one who convinced me to ask out my girlfriend-“

You blink at him. “You have a girlfriend?”

“Yeah, Eileen. You’re friends with her too. You’re friends with everybody.” Sam offers you another smile, and this one seems less painful. “Even Rowena likes you. We didn’t have to threaten her to help us out here.”

Even as you return Sam’s smile, a last question eats at your tongue, and you’re too tired, too confused to think better of asking it.

“What about Dean?” You whisper. “Am I friends with him?”

Sam sighs. He seems to do that a lot.

“Yes. Kind of. I… I don’t know.” He mutters, frowning at the pavement. “It’s complicated. I’m not- This isn’t really my place, you know?”

You swallow. “Does he hate me?”

Sam laughs at that. A loud, full laugh that echoes around the parking lot.

“No.” He shakes his head, clearly amused by something you don’t understand. “I don’t think either of you could hate each other if you-“

“I fucking hate you!” You scream, shoving his chest. He doesn’t flinch. He never flinches.

Asshole.

“You’re drunk.” Dean grunts your name, catching your hand against his chest. “We need to go home.”

“I’m not going anywhere with you, Winchester-“

“Yeah, you are.”

Dean starts to tug you across the parking lot, back to the car, and you hate that you just let him. You always let him. He takes you somewhere and you just follow him like a fucking lapdog. Waiting for him whenever he leaves. Whining and whimpering at the door when he’s gone and lighting up from the inside when he returns.

Barely getting a treat or a smile when he pays attention to you. Only really getting his attention in brief flashes that build your body to an explosion before leaving you to pick up the pieces yourself. Leaving you alone, wracked with a love he can’t return, mending your own heart until he asks to break it again, and you let him.

“You’re going to sleep it off.” Dean mutters from ahead of you, and there are little blond hairs at the nape of his neck that seem silver and gold in the low light. Just another piece of him that’s impossibly beautiful. Another piece you get to touch but never keep.

“I don’t need to sleep it off!” You yank your hand from his grip as he tries to guide you into Baby, and drop on the curb with a dramatic sigh. “Just leave me alone, Dean.”

“I am not fucking abandoning you at some sketchy bar-“

“Why not?” You raise your chin at him, narrowing your eyes. “Afraid I’ll find someone else? That I’ll crawl into another bed, and they’ll actually like me, and you’ll lose your favorite pet?”

He scowls. “We’re not having this conversation right now-“

“Why not?! You know it’s the truth, Dean! I’m just, I’m your fucking toy and you hate sharing-“

He says your name in a low warning, but you can’t stop now. This pain has been building up and up in your chest and lungs for years, and now that it’s out it’s volcanic. You couldn’t keep it in if you tried.

“But you’ll never actually care about me! I’m easy for you! That was the fucking deal, right! We’re easy for each other and that’s it, just using each other until one of us fucking dies! You keep acting like I mean nothing and then you get all fucking possessive when I try to get over you-“

“You’re not trying to get over me.” He mutters, not fully meeting your eyes. “You don’t have anything to get over. You’re just fucking wasted-“

“Yeah, I am, because you won’t just say that I matter to you-“

“Of course you matter to me, you’re my friend-“

“You’re not my friend!” You scream, your voice echoing through the parking lot. Your head is starting to spin. “Friends don’t do this to each other!”

You’re dizzy. You feel a little faint.

And you’d just spend an hour telling Dean you hate him. But he’s still grabbing you and keeping you steady.

You really wish he wouldn’t. It would make it easier to pretend you really did hate him. That just his touch didn’t make you feel safe and cared for, even when the dickhead didn’t really care.

“You done?” He asks, and you hum, something hot and wet stinging at your eyes.

“I hate you, Dean.” You mumble, even as you slump into him. “I fucking hate you.”

He brushes some hair from your face, and your eyes flutter. “I know you do, babygirl.” He mutters, and you don’t think he knows you’re still awake. “Let’s go home.”

Sam’s frowning at you when the real world comes back into view. And when you whisper that you’d really like to leave, he doesn’t ask questions. He doesn’t even make you drive, or try to talk to you as you stare out the window.

He doesn’t push for the rest of the day. He shows you a few more things that trigger smaller memories, and you don’t see Dean at all.

But he’s everywhere. In every memory. You walk through the library as Sam explains a system you allegedly designed, and a memory of you explaining this exact system to Dean flashes through your brain. He’d made jokes, and you’d giggled, and his smile had numbed your brain. You try to make yourself dinner, and suddenly you’re laughing and throwing food at Dean, right before he presses you against the counter with a searing kiss. You wander through the halls and you can hear heavy, controlled steps behind you. You return to your room, and he’s at your side in bed, wearing the same flannel from the memory in the parking lot. Making you drink water and helping you change, muttering low apologies you can’t actually really hear. Tucking you in bed and tracing his hand over your face, grabbing you a trash can to vomit in when you shoot back up, his hand rubbing soothing circles on your back.

His whole face is set in that memory, but it’s all hazy. You don’t know if you trust it, because all the other memories have been sharp and clear, but this one is dreamlike. Like even before you lost your memory, you weren’t sure if it was real. The you who all this happened to might have just made this up for herself. Made up Dean holding her hair back and pressing a soft kiss to her brow as she lay back down, even though you can still feel the warmth of his chapped lips in that exact spot. She might have made up Dean smiling at her when she mumbled that she didn’t actually hate him. She might have made up him staying when she begged him to in a soft voice.

You don’t know. You don’t know anything. You’ve never felt more lost, never been in more pain. Your body is where it’s supposed to be, but your brain isn’t. It’s restless and worried and tearing itself apart, and when you fail to sleep your body knows how to walk through the halls, even as your whole mind spins and shreds itself to pieces.

Sam was sorry this was happening to you, but you don’t know why. You don’t know him. Every time you’ve seen Cas since you’ve returned, he’s asked you questions you don’t know the answers to. Every day your body remembers things, but you don’t. You want to, you want to so bad, but you’re adrift and drowning in a vast, cold ocean and you can’t even remember how you got there. You keep feeling like there’s a lifeline, just out of reach, but you can’t grab it. It’s not in your room, or the kitchen, or the library. It’s nowhere Sam takes you, nowhere you remember how to go.

You feel like something had been guiding you, anchoring you in the waves, and now it’s missing. Vanished from your hands.

And now you’re lost, and in pain, and alone. Wandering aimlessly through the depths of the bunker in the dead of night, searching for a lighthouse you’re not sure exists.

You walk into the War Room, and Dean’s already there. Glass of whiskey in hand, head tipped back and eyes closed, the fancy headphones you’d gotten him for his birthday blasting music so loud you can hear it from across the room. You walk up behind him and run a gentle hand over his cheeks, and he doesn’t flinch. His eyes just open slowly and find yours in a second, his attention soft as he tugs his headphones down, grabs your hand, and kisses your knuckles.

“Hi.” You whisper, and he grins.

“Hey.”

“It’s late.” You run a hand through his hair, and he lets you. He’s amazing and horrible, so he lets you have this. “It’s bad for your back to sleep in a chair.”

“Bad for my back?” He chuckles. “I’m not that old, sweetheart-“

“It’s bad for everyone’s back-“

“Sam sleeps in his chair all the time.” Dean raises his brows at you, and you swallow. “You’re not on his ass about it.”

You sigh. You don’t want to entertain this. You’re too tired for the fight that it will lead to. “Please just go sleep in your bed, Dean.”

He hums, and you let him guide you around the chair, until you’re standing between his legs.

“Maybe I will, if you’re there with me.”

“Don’t say that.” You whisper, unable to move away. He’s going to break your heart again. You’re going to let him, because your heart is traitorous and loves being broken by Dean. It just likes that Dean has to touch it to break it. “Please.”

He shakes his head with a long, deep exhale, and doesn’t say another word.

But he doesn’t go to bed either. He stands up until you’re trapped between his body and the table, and places his whiskey down, his eyes never leaving yours. He’s scanning over your face with an expression like he’s lost, like he’s looking for something he’s desperate to find but terrified to see.

You don’t know if he finds it.

All you know is that he’s touching you, and you’re molding into him, and whatever he does to you, you’ll allow.

As long as it’s Dean doing it.

He unplugs his headphone until the music is filling the War Room, picks up his iPod, and changes the song. This one is soft, a gentle melody drowning you in honey and a daze of Dean. You didn’t think he’d own a song like this. It’s slow and romantic, and it flows so easily as he takes one hand in yours, places the other on your hip, and moves you away from the table.

He starts to sway, holding you steady in his arms, and soon you’re dancing. Really dancing, in measured, easy steps that Dean guides you through. You didn’t think he’d know how to do this. You didn’t think he’d ever do it with you.

But you’re lost in him, and you’ve never felt like you’ve belonged anywhere else. You’re drowning in the song, but Dean’s drowning with you, so you know exactly where you are. Trapped in this infinite and fleeting moment, trapped in Dean’s eyes, trapped in the warmth of his light, casting over your body and guiding you wherever you’ll need to be.

When he leans in to kiss you, you don’t push him away. You could never push him away. Your hands only know how to curl in his shirt and your lips only know how to crash into his. Your tongue always craves Dean’s taste of whiskey and pecan, and your body always knows how to catch the small sparks of lighting his touch creates, then throw them through your whole body.

And Dean always kisses you with everything he has, but this is different. It’s not desperate and needy, it’s long and deep and feels like home. When he sucks on your lower lip, it’s like he’s trying to leave a mark. When his steps still and he dips you down, you gasp, and he breathes it in like it’s more than oxygen. When your arms wrap around his neck, he pulls you closer, like you could be absorbed into his body forever.

When he pulls away—the song long over, the only sounds in the world his ragged breath and your heartbeat in your ears—he still doesn’t speak. And you don’t move. You’ll be a statue until Dean’s command brings your back to life. You’ll be cold marble, sinking down, down, down until he takes your hand and reminds your body how to be.

And that’s pathetic.

But when he squeezes your hand in his, presses a soft kiss on the space between your eyes, and starts to guide you out of the War Room, you don’t even try not to follow him.

Because Dean would never let you stray from where you’re safe. Next to him.

Your legs are carrying you out of the war room, down a path that they remember but you don’t. To a door that your hand aches to push open, into a room where the air is warm but fresh, and an overwhelming smell of amber and evergreen tints against your nostrils. They don’t seem bothered by it. They seem to relax into it, like it’s an anesthetic.

This must be Dean’s room. If your body couldn’t tell you that, your increasingly fragile brain would still piece it together. It’s obviously lived in—clothing on the floor, sheets messy on the bed, small bits of evidence scattered on the shelves and dresser—and there’s only one lived in room you haven’t entered before. Dean’s.

Sam hadn’t even shown you where it was.

Apparently he hadn’t needed to. Your whole body had pulled you here.

And that’s your shirt, on the bedside table-

Dean peels off your shirt without a word, discarding it to an unseen corner of the room. You fumble with his belt, your need growing and growing with every second his hands map over your body—he’s already explored it, found places you didn’t even know existed yourself, but he never seems to get sick of you—and Dean just chuckles, keeping his brow pressed to yours as he takes care of it himself. His jeans have barely fallen around his ankles when he grabs your face between his hands and kisses you until your knees are weak.

Neither of you are speaking. There’s nothing to say that hasn’t already been screamed or sobbed or snapped, hasn’t been moaned or mumbled or whispered.

All that left to do is touch each other, like you have a million times before. Like you will a million times again, because you can lie to yourself that one day your patience will run out and you’ll leave, but you know you won’t. Dean’s changed your body on a level that feels deeper than skin. Your heart only knows how to beat for him. Your brain only knows how to think of him. Your hands only know how to palm at his dick, tenting through his boxers, and your lips only know how to part as he groans down your throats.

You fall to your knees, free him from his underwear, wrap your hand around his proud cock, and look up at him with a soft smile. His massive, rough hand has tangled in your hair, his eyes hooded and throat bobbing, and when you take him in your mouth you know exactly how to play him like an instrument. How to suck when he bumps the back of your throat, how to flick your tongue over the head of him, how to squeeze and jerk off the base of his cock where you can’t get him between your lips. You know to keep going as he starts to groan your name in a low warning, because if he wants to cum in your mouth, you’d never stop him.

That’s another taste you’ll always crave. Salty and bitter and so purely Dean, marking you in a way he can’t take back.

But he pulls you off with a firm tug of your hair, wiping a little drool from your lips with his thumb before tilting your head up and crashing his lips into yours. When Dean hauls you to your feet you crumple into him, and when he tosses you onto his bed you giggle, crawling backwards and spreading your legs in a silent offering you’ve given him a million times before, and will never stop giving him as long as he takes it.

And he always takes it. Dean’s eyes always darken, and he always prowls over you. But it’s never like you’re prey. Never like you’re just a body to be taken and notched on a bedpost.

It’s like you’re something he’s trying to bathe himself in. Like an external piece of him he’s trying to protect and tend to by covering himself in it. It’s why he always dives down between your legs first, keeping you pinned to the bed with a hand on your stomach, shoving his tongue deep into your cunt and pressing his nose on your clit until you’re writhing and suffocating him between your thighs. When he moves to pull that bundle of nerves between his lips—pressing his tongue flat against you and sucking—a coil in your gut snaps, and you drown his face in your release.

Your body only ever does that for Dean.

You don’t think he knows that. And every time you think to tell him, he’s always already moved on. Risen above you and shoving two fingers into your still raw and sensitive pussy, finding the deepest part of you like it’s a magnet, and rubbing on it as he watches you come undone once more.

He cleans his hands with his mouth, licking them and smirking at you as you reach for him, trying to grip his body and pull it down over yours. He usually takes his time—teasing and edging you until you’re a whining mess—but tonight really is different. His smile on your flushed, already wrecked face isn’t taunting or lustful, it’s relaxed. And he still doesn’t speak, but when he kisses his way over your navel, up your chest—stopping to suck on one nipple as his hand plays with your other breast, because he’s Dean and he can’t help himself—it’s louder than anything else in the world. He’s taking him time because he’s trying to keep you in his bed. He knows that once this is over, you’ll gather your things and leave, like you always do to protect yourself.

So he’s giving you a reason to stay.

He nips and sucks up your throat and over your jaw, plants kisses everywhere on your face but where you’re begging for him, and pins your squirming body to the bed with his full weight before his mouth finally makes its way to yours.

He’s kissing you into the mattress, kissing you until your lips are swollen and your head is spinning from oxygen deprivation. He only pulls back to watch his hand stroke his cock, right before he guides himself into your dripping, fluttering pussy and bottoms out in one thrust. He lets out a low grunt as you adjust, and when he rolls his hips, you moan.

And he falls right back into you.

From there it’s only Dean. Fucking you until you’re scratching at his chest and putty in his arms, your mouth is slack as he groans and grunts above you. He hikes your thigh up to push his cock in at a deeper angle and marks your neck and shoulders with bites and hickeys that you hope never fade, building his speed until you’re just a squirming, whining mess and he’s slamming into you at a brutal pace.

He doesn’t slow down when you cum, clenching around his cock and screaming a high whine of his name. He only swallows the sound with a bruising kiss, plunging his tongue down your throat and rutting harder and harder into your cunt. All you can do is take it. You’ll always take it. If this is how to you get to have Dean, you’ll never push him away.

He cums with a roar against your lips, trigging one last, small, shuddering orgasm through your body, and collapses on top of you.

Dean rolls you over until he’s beneath you, caging you against his chest with big, strong arms. He doesn’t pull out—letting his cum drip down and dry on your thighs—and when your look up at him he’s staring at you with a drunken, awestruck expression.

His eyes are already drooping, his breathing slowing to an even, steady pace as he keeps you trapped against his body. You wish your hands could remember how to pry him away before he falls asleep, because now you’re going to be trapped here for a long, painful night where Dean’s sheathed inside you and you can smell and taste him everywhere, but he’s still not yours to have.

Yet, you can’t move.

And right as his eyes close, he mutters your name. You almost don’t hear it. You’re not sure you did hear it.

“Dean?”

He repeats your name, and it’s barely a breath.

“Wha-“

“I love you.” He mumbles your name one last time, and you gape at him. He doesn’t even know he’s speaking. “‘m sorry. Love you. Don’t leave.” He buries his face in your hair, and he won’t remember this in the morning. “Please don’t leave me.”

“What are you doing in here.”

You drag your gaze away from the bed and turn to see Dean, wearing flannel pants and a white sleep shirt. He’s not glaring at you, even though you’ve invaded his room without permission. He just looks weary. Tired.

“I’m sorry.” You whisper, rooted to the spot. “I don’t… I don’t know.”

Something pained flashes over his face, and you feel small cracks form across your heart.

“Whatever.” He mutters, walking right past you without another glance. “Get out.”

“No.”

You don’t know why you said that. This isn’t your place to be, especially when Dean doesn’t want anything to do with you. When he doesn’t want you here. But you don’t feel adrift here. And you don’t want to go.

Dean stares at you. “What.”

“I’m not going.” You hug yourself, your eyes moving back to the shirt on the dresser. “That’s my shirt.”

He huffs, rolling his eyes as he mutters to himself. “So a fucking shirt you remember. Awesome.”

You swallow. “Why do you have my shirt, Dean.”

He goes rigid, but doesn’t speak, so you keep going.

“Why won’t you talk to me?” You don’t realize you’re walking forward he’s closer. It feels right. “Sam said-“

“Sam doesn’t know what the hell he’s talking about.” Dean grunts, but he doesn’t move away. Even when you move closer. Even as you push on.

“Then you tell me.” You sound like you’re pleading. You kind of are. “Every time I remember something you’re there, but you won’t even look at me! I don’t know who I am, I don’t know what’s going on, and I keep thinking about you but you’re acting like you want nothing to do with me-“

Dean’s jaw clenches, his words pushed through his teeth. “That’s not true.”

“It is! You can’t even stand to be in the same room as me!” You feel like you’re going to cry. You haven’t even wanted to cry, not since this began, but something has crashed down inside of you, and this room feels like a safe place to fall apart.

Dean feels like a safe place to fall apart.

“I’m, I’m so lost, and I don’t know what’s going on, and everything keeps coming back to you but I don’t know who you are! You won’t tell me who you are, Sam won’t tell me who you are, and I feel like I’m supposed to know but I don’t! I know who I am but I feel like I’m missing something, and everything hurts, and I just- I need to know-“

Dean grunts your name, and you let out a choked sob.

You’re sick of being lost. You’re sick of not knowing. And when you meet Dean’s eyes they’re like a beacon, and you can’t help but float into them.

“Who am I to you, Dean?”

“You’re the love of my life.” His voice is hoarse, and his eyes widen slightly at his own answer. You don’t think he expected it.

“I’m-“

His hands grab your face—holding you so carefully, like he’s practiced this a million time—and you melt into his touch.

“You’re everything to me, and I- I fucking failed you.” Dean’s thumb traces over your cheekbone, wiping away a tear. “I can’t fix it. I’ve been fucking trying, baby. I promised you I’d try, but I can’t. I- I can’t. I need your help but you’re-“ He makes a low, strangled sound, dropping his brow to yours. It fits perfectly there. “I can’t do this without you. I never tell you that, I never say that I need you, but I do, and I failed you, and now you’re-“

Dean’s whole body shudders, and your arms wrap around him on instinct alone. He falls over you, clinging to you like you’re going to vanish, and-

“You don’t have to do this.” Dean mutters in your ear, and his hug is going to suffocate you, but you don’t care. Maybe he’ll leave an indent on your body. “We can just fucking destroy it-“

“Because trying to destroy cursed objects has worked out so well for us, historically.” You give him a sad, dry smile, and he shakes his head.

“There’s another way. There’s always another way-“

“We don’t have time for another way. And it won’t be permanent. All curses can be cured.”

“But we don’t even know what the hell this one does!” He shouts, and you don’t wince. He’s not mad at you. “‘Taking what you value most’ could mean anything, could fucking do anything-“

“I know. But it will kill you if I don’t-“

“We don’t know that-“

You do know that. So does Dean. This object latched onto Dean, and it will either leech his life slowly, involuntarily, or take something from you, along with a piece of your memory. And you’ll lose whatever you need to if it keeps Dean safe.

“Listen.” You hold Dean’s gaze, making your voice firm. “Don’t tell Sam and Cas. They’ll get caught on what happened, and you’ll all start fighting, and we can’t afford that. You just need to find what I value, bring it back to me, and I’ll be okay. Got it?”

Dean shakes his head. “How am I supposed to know what you value if you won’t tell me-“

“I don’t know.” You sigh. “I- I honestly can’t think of what I value most, but hopefully you’ll notice something is missing, and you can track it down.” You give him a soft smile. “I believe in you, Dean. And if I’m awake, I’ll try to help you.”

“You won’t remember-“

“It should only take my memories relating the thing. I probably won’t even know anything is wrong.”

“But I’ll know.” He mutters. “And what if I don’t get the thing back to you-“

“You will get it back to me.” You say simply. He’s Dean. You trust him with more than your life. “And I’ll be okay.”

You start to move away, but he doesn’t let you go. He’s pallid and bloodless from the object draining him, but he’s still strong. And you don’t really want to leave him at all.

“Don’t. Please.” He mutters your name, and it sounds like a prayer. “I’m not worth this, baby.”

“Of course you are.” You smile at him, tears stinging your eyes as you manage to force yourself away. “I love you.”

His eyes widen, and he looks like he wants to say something, but anything he can say will only make you hesitate.

So you turn away.

Right before you touch the object you have a thought. An epiphany that—if your hand wasn’t already pressed on the object’s cool surface—would have made you break down and scream for Dean to make you stop, to drag you away.

But it’s too late. And everything goes dark.

“Dean.”

He leans back to look at you, and you know him. You know everything about him, and it’s destroying your brain and body, trying to break out but trapped down. This pain is horrible.

But Dean is good.

“You love me?”

He swallows, but nods. He seems afraid. Tense under your hands, like you’re going to push him away and he’ll have to just take it.

He won’t. Because you do the only thing you’re certain you know how to do.

You kiss him.

It’s like fireworks, but there’s no electrically you haven’t felt before, no colors you’ve never seen. You’re swept up in his waves and wide fire, but it could never drown or burn you. You’ve adapted to move with it, to breathe in his water and smoke and trust him to bring you exactly where you need to be.

Against his chest, dipping and holding you steady, pouring his all and then some into your body. And your memory doesn’t crash back into you, it just washes over you like rain.

Dean pulls back, and you smile at him like you always have. Like you always will.

“Hi,” you whisper, and he grins.

“Hey,” Dean says your name, and you’ve done this dance before. “Are you-“

You kiss him again, and you know exactly who Dean is. What he is to you, how he loves you in strong, unspoken silence that kills you and cures you all at one, and how you might be built to love him.

You are.

And he’s built the same way for you.

End Note: Obsessed with love as a thing that happens to you physically, if you can't tell. Thank you for reading!

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