#in my time of dying | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

zepskies · 2 years ago

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Never Say Goodbye - Part 9

Pairing: Dean x Female Reader

Summary: The first time you and Dean sensed each other’s thoughts and feelings, you were just kids. It would take years to realize that you both were bonded for life, and even longer to finally meet. [Soulmate AU] (Rated M for eventual scenes – 18+)

Word Count: 5,000 Warnings: Angst, canonical character death, hurt/comfort and many, many feels.

Part 9: Intensive Care

You only felt a little ridiculous repeating yourself for the hospital receptionist.

“Dean McGillicuddy,” you said. Your nails tapped impatiently on the counter. Meanwhile, the woman behind the desk seemed to take her sweet time sorting through the computer records.

“He’s in Intensive Care,” she informed you. “Just so you know, only family members are allowed to visit at this time. What’s your relation to the patient?”

You made the decision to lie before you even really thought about it—with an age-old tactic since the movie While You Were Sleeping, circa 1995.

“I’m his fiancé,” you said. “What’s the room number?”

Once she gave you the room, you booked it down the hall and up the stairs three floors (the elevator was taking too long). You were breathing heavier by the time you swept into the room, but then your lungs constricted.

A gasp got stuck in your throat when you saw Dean. He laid intubated in the hospital bed, with several wires crisscrossed along the floor, two monitors steadily beeping, various bruises and lacerations spread across his face and arms, and a nasty cut stitched down his forehead.

“Dean…” Tears welled up in your eyes.

Standing beyond his bed was an older man you hadn’t seen before. He had dark hair, a salt-and-pepper beard, handsome features. He also looked banged up with his arm in a sling (presumably from the accident), and in his blood-stained undershirt, wrinkled buttoned-down, and jeans. He looked up at you, confused and suspicious.

“Who are you?” he asked. There was edge in his deep voice, and his posture straightened. Defensive. Protective.

Another small gasp fell from your lips. Your gaze lifted from Dean to the man’s face and you instinctively told him your name.

He seemed to recognize it in an instant. His eyes widened as he realized who you were, then they softened. His shoulders loosened.

So you approached Dean’s bed and raised a shaking hand to the crown of his head. Very gently, you brushed back his hair, traced the outline of his stitches down his forehead. You sought the warm thread of your soul bond, but you couldn’t feel him at all. The connection was solid, but silent.

The man on Dean’s other side shifted on his feet, bracing one hand on the bed frame. You then realized this must be John Winchester, Dean’s father, who you’d never met before. And he was watching you with some measure of curiosity.

With a hot blush, you remembered your manners and stuck out your hand across the bed.

“I’m glad to finally meet you, Mr. Winchester…sir.”

After a beat, his shoulders relaxed. His lips pulled into a smile and he took your hand.

“Just John is fine,” he said. “...Dean’ll be happy you’re here.”

You gave a weak smile. John was slow to lower back into his seat at Dean’s right, while you stood at Dean’s left. Before you could find something else to say, Sam walked in with a duffel bag and hell on his heels. He spared you a smile and a hug when he noticed you.

“Good to see you,” he said, with a gentle pat of your back. You let out a halting breath.

“You too,” you replied. Despite the circumstances.

But when Sam released you and looked at his father, his face fell into a tight frown.

“Something wrong?” John asked.

Sam’s lips pursed. He dumped the duffel bag at his father’s feet. “You think I wouldn’t find out?”

John’s brows furrowed. “What’re you talking about?”

“That stuff from Bobby. You don’t use it to ward off a demon, you use it to summon one,” Sam said. “You’re planning on bringing the demon here and having some stupid macho showdown!”

This conversation was lost on you, but you weren’t about to interrupt. You sat down on the edge of the bed, took Dean’s hand, and watched Sam in worry. John, however, looked calm.

“I have a plan, Sam,” he said.

“That’s exactly my point!” Sam shouted. “Dean is dying, and you have a plan. You know, you care more about killing this demon than you do about your own son!”

You’d never seen him so angry before. It was starting to scare you, especially when he emphasized that Dean was dying.

Fresh tears burned in your eyes and your lower lip wobbled as you looked down at Dean. You didn’t notice that John glanced at you before answering his son.

“Do not tell me how I feel,” John argued back. “I am doing this for Dean.”

Sam glared incredulously. “How? How is revenge going to help him? You’re not thinking of anybody but yourself! It’s the same selfish obsession!”

“You know what, I thought this was your obsession too,” John shot back. “This demon killed your mother, killed your girlfriend. You begged me to be a part of this hunt! Now, if you killed that damn thing when you had the chance, none of this would’ve happened!”

“It was possessing you, Dad!” Sam ground out. “I would have killed you too.”

You perked up at that, mostly confused. You’d pieced together that the demon had somehow caused their car crash, but it had possessed John too?

“Yeah, and your brother would be awake right now,” John said.

“Go to hell,” Sam spat.

It probably wasn’t your place to interrupt, but part of you wanted to speak up and stop this. You started to feel a growing sense of anxiety and frustration, even anger at these two men. You had the sudden urge to tell both of them to shut the hell up.

Then a quiet gasp fell from between your lips as you realized something. You were anxious, yes, and scared. But angry?

Had that thought really been yours?

It felt a bit like that first time, long ago. When you were a child standing in a cold cemetery on the worst day of your life, but you started to sense thoughts and feelings that weren’t your own…

“I should’ve never have taken you along in the first place,” John said. “I knew it was a mistake!”

Sam opened his mouth to spew back a hot retort, until a glass of water on the rolling tray between them fell and shattered on the tile ground.

I said shut up!

This time when you gasped, both John and Sam noticed you. Both quieted with apologetic looks.

And one of Dean’s monitors started to beep more rapidly. All three of you stared at it for a moment in shock—and then it flatlined.

Sam rushed out of the room and called for help while you pressed the emergency button multiple times. John called his eldest son’s name, and was still trying to reach him when the nurses rushed in. Two of the nurses guided you out of the way. You didn’t want to leave his side, but in shock and desperation you looked back at Sam. He gently took you by the shoulders over by the door.

John also leaned against the wall while the medical staff tried more than once to resuscitate Dean with the defibrillator. Each shock arched his chest, but didn’t stabilize his heart.

“No,” Sam said, shaking his head. Tears poured down your face as you hiccupped a sob.

“Still no pulse,” the nurse said. The doctor nodded.

“Okay, let’s go again,” he said. “360.”

“Charging.”

“Clear.”

“All clear.”

By the third round, you were all but leaning against Sam with your face buried in his side. His supportive arm wrapped around your shoulder. He had the door jam in a death grip with his other hand.

I said get back!

The thought rang out clear as a bell in your mind. This time you could even hear Dean’s voice.

And his heartbeat finally stabilized into a steady rhythm. You let out a shaking sob in relief. Sam’s hand tightened on your shoulder and he led you to a nearby chair. You looked up at him, not knowing what you wanted to say or what to think. Sam had similar relieved tears in his eyes. He nodded and let out a sigh before he turned back to his father, who looked three shades paler.

“Want to get back to your room?” Sam said. After a moment, John seemed to snap out of it and actually see his younger son. He nodded, though his gaze was focused on Dean. Sam’s lips pressed, but he went over and helped make sure his dad made it back to his hospital room.

“I’m sorry about that. All that arguing,” Sam said. He returned to you in Dean’s room with a cup of coffee for you. “Me and my dad…we don’t always see eye-to-eye.”

That was a bit more than a petty argument, but okay, you thought.

“I can relate,” you said. “But Sam, what happened? What caused the crash?”

Sam hesitated, but he proceeded to tell you more about the Yellow Eyed demon, as well as the events that started from Sam and Dean finding their father, and the demon, and ending with being hit full-force by a mack truck.

It was a lot to process with one watery cup of coffee, but you managed with a slight tremor in your hands.

Sam assessed you.

“Did you drive here without stopping?” he asked.

You looked down at yourself and realized you were still wearing your blouse, skirt, and heels for work. You had stopped at your house briefly to grab a few things, but you still hadn’t changed or eaten since you left the museum.

“More or less,” you said.

“Maybe you should—”

“Sam,” you interrupted, “I…I heard something. Felt something. I think…I think it was Dean.”

Sam straightened in his seat across from you. “You did?”

“Through the…our connection,” you said. “When the glass shattered, and again when he…before they brought him back.”

Sam brought his folded hands to his lips as he thought. A determined look then flashed across his face. “I’ll be back.”

“Where are you going?” you asked.

“I can…well, it’s a long story. But basically, I felt him too. I’m going to see if we can do something with that,” Sam admitted. You didn’t know what he meant, but you weren’t about to stop him. He left you alone with your coffee and your thoughts.

You got up from your chair and made your way to Dean’s bedside. You touched his hand, his long fingers and scraped knuckles. You sought out the warm current of energy inside your mind, and you tugged on the soul bond.

Dean?

You waited, but there was no response.

Dean, can you hear me? you tried again.

Nothing. Your shoulders fell as you deflated. The damage to his brain was enough to be unpredictable, but still, the doctor had very little hope that Dean would wake up.

You bit your lower lip to stop it from trembling. Tears still worked their way down your face. You covered it with your hands, as if you could block out the world and stop it from moving forward.

You just didn’t know that Dean’s ghost-like spirit was standing right next to you. He’d tried to call out to you, to Sam, to John several times, but none of you could hear him. Now, his heart was tearing at the sight of you.

Unlike in phone calls and emails and texts you two had shared over the past year, he couldn’t just tell you it was going to be all right anymore.

Because this time, he had no idea what he was going to do.

Sam brought in a Ouija board to try and communicate with the spirit that was most likely Dean. You were skeptical, and even wary of that hoodoo crap, but Sam asked you to trust him.

Eventually, Sam was successful in contacting Dean. He was able to tell you and Sam that an actual reaper was after him.

“What’s a reaper? As in black hood and scythe—Grim Reaper?” you asked Sam.

“Pretty much,” he said. “They help schlep souls to the afterlife. But if one’s here naturally for Dean…damn it.”

“What?” you asked in worry.

“He’s…he’s screwed,” Sam said. “There’s no way to stop it.”

That gripped you icily, but the thread of energy inside you pulsed in your chest. You raised a hand to your heart.

Our souls are like molecules, you remembered Dean telling you once. Just trying to connect.

“No,” you replied. “I can still feel him, which means he isn’t gone. Isn’t there anything we can do?”

“I’m going to find out,” Sam said. He’d renewed his determination with a stealed look. “There’s gotta be a way. Dad will know what to do.”

Sam got up and once again left you alone in the room, packing up the board as he went.

You let out a shaky sigh. He was likely off to do his own research…but so could you!

You went down to your car and grabbed your laptop (plus a sandwich from the food court). From there you returned to Dean’s bedside, tore into a tuna melt, and started looking up everything you could find on reapers.

It had been a long drive from South Dakota, and the most trying hours of your life, but you focused on the screen in front of you.

A few hours later, you struggled to keep your bleary eyes open and had to jolt yourself awake. You hadn’t found anything that could help Dean so far.

With a sigh, you set your laptop in the second, now empty chair.

Dean? you tried again, but you could no longer feel his spirit like you had before. The bond was there, but it wasn’t thrumming strong. It was just…steady.

For now, a traitorous thought whispered. You shook your head and got up from the chair, stretching your cracking back as you went. You’d kicked off your heels a while ago, so you padded barefoot to Dean’s bedside and sat down. You took comfort in watching his chest rise and fall in easy sleep. Or at least, you could pretend he was just sleeping.

Okay, channeling Sandra Bullock, you thought with a slight smile. You brushed your fingers through his short sandy hair, which was shades lighter than Sam’s and his father’s. Maybe Dean took after his mother.

“I’m grateful, you know,” you said. Maybe it was silly to talk to him out loud, but getting the words out made you feel like he could actually hear you this time.

“Bobby, my dad, your dad. None of them got the time they thought they were going to have with their person. So…so however long we get, I’ll try to be all right with that,” you said, even though your voice started to break.

“I just want you know, before anything else happens…that I love you,” you confessed. “I love you. The only regret I have is that I didn’t make you take me with you when you left. Because if I’m honest, I hate that you keep leaving me behind.”

You covered your face at the tears sliding down, trying and failing to blot them out. That’s when Sam returned. He was apologetic when he noticed the state you were in, but you waved him in anyway. It wasn’t the first time he’d seen you cry today.

“Have you found anything?” you asked, sniffling.

“I’ve looked, but there’s nothing that can repel or kill a reaper. I can’t find my dad either,” he said.

That fell between you with a heavy thud. You didn’t want to acknowledge his words, so you distracted yourself. You noticed the dark circles beneath his eyes.

“Do you need a coffee? You look like you do. I’ll get you one,” you said. You wiped your face and got up to do just that, slipping your heels back on. Sam smiled.

“When you do that, it kind of reminds me of Dean,” he said.

Your head tilted curiously. “What?”

“He may not look it, but he’s been looking after me…pretty much my whole life,” Sam admitted.

You smiled. “Somehow that doesn’t surprise me at all.”

When you left, Sam’s smile dropped. He approached his brother’s bedside.

“I don’t know how to help you,” he said. “But I’ll keep trying, all right? For her sake, for everyone…as long as you keep fighting.”

He smiled and laughed a little. “I mean, you can’t leave me alone here with dad. We’ll kill each other, you know that. Dean…you gotta hold on. You can’t go, man. Not now. We were just starting to be brothers again.”

Sam let out a shuddering sigh. He stood in silence there for a few minutes, just wracking his brain. What can I do? What the fuck do I do?

When you returned, Sam was still standing in the same spot. He almost didn’t hear you when you offered him his cup of coffee.

“Sam,” you started, but that was when both of you heard a hacking cough.

A gasp fell from your lips.

Dean was choking on his breathing tube because he was awake. Sam went to press the call button while you called for a nurse. Soon enough the room was crowded again with medical personnel. But this time, your tears were born of relief.

“Do you want some more water? Or are you hungry?” you asked. “I think I can snag you a sandwich from downstairs instead of the potato surprise they got cooked up for your neighbors.”

Dean stopped you from fluffing his pillow again. Sam sat at his right, not bothering to cover up his smile.

“Hey, just stop, okay. Relax,” Dean said. He reached for your busy hands and un-busied them. He brought you down to sit on the edge of his bed. He liked the look of you in your pretty white blouse, black skirt, and heels. But he didn’t like how exhausted you and Sam looked.

Dean stroked the back of your hand and glanced at Sam.

“You said a reaper was after me?”

Sam nodded. “Yeah.”

“How’d I ditch it?” Dean asked.

“You got me,” Sam replied. “Dean, you really don’t remember anything?”

Dean rubbed his stomach with his free hand. “No, except for this pit in my stomach. Sam, something’s wrong.”

“What do you mean?” you asked in concern. Dean almost kicked himself. He didn’t want to worry you—

“I’d rather you tell me the truth than hide it from me,” you told him, more sternly. You’d picked up on the trail of his thoughts through the bond, which was once again flaring with life.

His lips quirked. “Damn. Forgot we’re basically human lie detectors again.”

“Yeah.” Your lips quirked into a smile. “So don’t bother trying, tough guy.”

There was a knock on the door, making all three of you turn to see John Winchester. He stood in the doorway to Dean’s hospital room with his arm in a sling.

“How you feelin’, dude?” John asked with a smile.

“Fine, I guess,” Dean replied. “I’m alive.”

You squeezed his hand at that, and he gave you a small smile.

“That’s what matters,” John agreed.

“Where were you last night?” Sam asked. He stood from his seat, crossing his arms at his father.

“I had some things to take care of,” John replied.

“Well, that’s specific.”

“Come on, Sam,” Dean interjected. You felt his annoyance and sensed this was an ongoing battle between the three men. That Dean had often been the one trying to play peacemaker here. The argument you witnessed between John and Sam made a lot more sense to you now.

“Did you go after the demon?” Sam pressed.

John shook his head. “No.”

“You know, why don’t I believe you right now?” Sam snapped.

Dean held in a sigh, lowering his head. He was too tired to do this balancing act between his father and brother.

You rubbed his arm, though you looked between Sam and John uncertainly. You weren’t sure what to do either…

But John stepped into the room and kept his tone civil, even gentle.

“Can we not fight?” he asked. “You know, half the time we’re fightin’, I don’t know what we’re fightin’ about. We’re just buttin’ heads.”

Sam quieted then. He looked like he hadn’t been expecting that.

“Look, Sammy, I…I’ve made some mistakes. But I’ve always done the best I could,” John said. “I just don’t wanna fight anymore, okay?”

John looked damn near close to tears. According to Dean, this was a former Marine made of leather and grit and not much softness in between. You watched John in concern.

“Dad, are you okay?” Sam asked. He was picking up on the same thing—that something was off here.

But John only smiled.

“Yeah. Yeah, I’m just a little tired,” he said. “Hey, son, would you mind getting me a cup of caffeine?”

Sam agreed, though he still looked uncertain. John watched him leave, then his gaze turned to his eldest. You picked up on the subtle distraction for Sam, that maybe John wanted to talk with Dean in private. So you squeezed Dean’s hand and grabbed his water cup as you stood.

“I’m gonna refill this for you. I’ll be back,” you said.

“Thanks, baby,” Dean said, though he reluctantly let you go.

You weren’t proud of this, but when you left the room, you also left the door open a crack and stood near it with your back against the wall. You were too curious about John Winchester. While you’d gotten the gist of his relationship with Sam, you had only a small idea of what his relationship with Dean was like.

Meanwhile, inside the room, John stood by his son’s bedside.

“You lucked out with that girl,” John said with a smile. Dean’s was softer, and you felt the warmth of it in your chest.

“She’s…hell, I don't know why she puts up with me.”

You were careful to keep your thoughts and emotions from Dean, but you couldn’t help melting at that. It made you feel a bit guilty for that part of you that resented him leaving you. His reasons were important, and as much as you hated the fact that hunting had landed him in the hospital, damn near dead…you understood his family’s fight.

But you were soon shaken from your thoughts as John said something unexpected.

“I’m sorry I told you not to go after her a few years ago,” he said. “Another one of those mistakes…they seem to keep pilin’ up.”

Dean looked at his father a bit harder. There was something wrong. “What’s going on, Dad?”

You listened as John apologized to Dean. He’d put too much on a child’s shoulders. He should’ve protected his son, both of his sons, better. He shouldn’t have made Dean grow up so fast.

“I just want you to know that I am so proud of you,” John added.

You sensed Dean’s discomfort, even as your heart broke for him.

“This really you talking?” Dean asked. John laughed a bit.

“Yeah, it’s really me.”

“Why’re you saying this stuff?”

You couldn’t hear what John said next, but you felt Dean’s reaction. Shock, disbelief, confusion—it was a confusing mix to try and sort through. And it only piqued your curiosity further. Before you could figure it out though, the hospital room door opened.

You scrambled to make it look like you had just gotten back, but John graciously smiled and didn’t comment on your obvious eavesdropping.

“Do me favor, sweetheart,” he said.

“Uh, sure, what do you need?” you asked.

“Dean can be a bit like me. Stubborn,” he said. “Just…look after him for me, okay?”

You looked up at him in slight confusion. “Of course.”

Though you nodded, you were also concerned. Was he planning to make a run for it without his sons again? Was he going to go after Yellow Eyes himself?

John rested a gentle hand on your shoulder as he passed by you down the hall. You watched him go, but Sam returned with his dad’s requested coffee in hand.

“I think he went back to his room,” you told him. “Though you might want to check in on your dad. Something seems a bit off with him.”

Sam frowned. He also touched your shoulder as he passed by, and it made you smile. Maybe it’s a Winchester thing.

You took a breath and refilled Dean’s water like you promised you would. When you got back to his room, his greeting smile was weaker than usual. You wanted to ask him about what his dad had meant by years ago, but…you didn’t think this was the time. Dean needed rest.

You set the cup of water on the rolling tray and once again sat down on the edge of his bed.

“Are you hungry? I’ll get you that sandwich, unless you want something else,” you offered.

“I want you to stop running around,” Dean said. He sighed and rested a hand on your thigh. “I’m sorry about all this.”

You gave him an incredulous look. “You were hurt, Dean. You don’t need to be sorry.”

“Yeah, I do,” he said. His eyes were serious, boring into yours. You bit your lip in concern.

“But, there is something I want,” he said, a note of teasing in his voice. He tugged on your hand, playfully pulling you toward him. You inched a bit closer.

“Come on, all the way,” he beckoned with a hand. You couldn’t help but smile and let him pull you into his arms, and then in for a soft kiss. It didn’t take long for him to deepen it, his warm hand spanning the small of your back.

He’d been cleared by the doctor, but you were still careful with him when you touched the side of his face. It was rough with days of stubble. And he would be lucky if he didn’t have a scar left from the cut down his forehead.

The past year alone had changed him, but you were so grateful he was alive.

Stroking his cheek, you pulled away so you could see his face. You wanted to tell him you loved him while he was awake. So you did.

“I love you, you know that?” you said. “Whether it was God, or the universe, or sheer luck of the draw, I’m glad you’re the one I got saddled with. You’re the one my soul chose.”

You both saw and felt Dean’s soft shock. Your words touched him in a way that maybe even he didn’t fully understand.

His mouth fell open to respond, but before he could, both of you noticed a team of nurses and assistants rushing down the hallway.

“What the hell’s going on?” Dean wondered.

“Stay here. I’ll go check,” you said. You didn’t want him getting out of bed just yet, even if he was mysteriously healed.

You hurried into the hall and followed the rush, only to find Sam.

He was holding John’s body on the ground, shouting, crying, and trying to shake his father awake.

Dean’s body healed, but his heart was not so easily persuaded.

The three of you returned to South Dakota and performed a small, quiet funeral for John Winchester. Bobby explained that burning his body was insurance—so his spirit wouldn’t linger like your mom’s had.

It made sense, but it still felt wrong to you to burn their father out in the open woods like this. It felt like it wasn’t enough. And though Dean tried to hide it from the bond, you knew he was breaking inside, just like Sam was.

In the days afterwards, Sam and Dean stayed with Bobby while the latter worked on restoring the Impala, which had basically been crunched like a pretzel in the crash. It was beyond totaled, but if you had learned one thing about Dean, it was that this car was sacred. Even if there was one working part, it was worth taking it apart and putting it back together again.

So you watched him work in the salvage yard from inside the kitchen, where you and Bobby talked over a glass of iced tea. Slowly but surely, you were trying to get the man to cut back on the liquor.

“Something wasn’t right about it, Bobby,” you said. “When I talked to him, John was fine. He asked me to look after Dean, like he was about to take off by himself again. Like he knew he was going to leave, or…”

Like he knew he was going to die, your mind finished what you couldn’t say.

Bobby hefted a long sigh. He looked out the kitchen window at Dean for a moment.

“Bobby?” you prodded.

“The Colt is missing,” he said.

You nodded. The Colt was a gun, made by a known gun maker and hunter, Samuel Colt, in 1835. Sam and Dean had told you that this gun was made with special bullets. It was the only weapon on earth that could possibly kill any supernatural creature, including the Yellow Eyed demon.

“The demon took it, didn’t he?” you said.

“I think John gave it to him,” Bobby said. Your eyes widened.

“What do you mean?”

“I think it was a trade,” he replied. “Dean’s life for John’s, and the gun that could kill him.”

And by him, you assumed he meant Yellow Eyes. Which meant that John hadn’t been after the demon, like Sam had assumed. John had struck a deal instead.

A few days later, Sam convinced Dean to come with him to investigate an old voicemail on one of John’s phones—from a woman named Ellen. Dean was more inclined to keep working on his car, but he reluctantly agreed to find this woman at a bar in Nebraska, called Harvelle’s Roadhouse.

You came by Bobby’s house after work to catch them before they left. You watched Dean pack his bag in swift moves. His face was relaxed, but he was careful to keep his thoughts and emotions to himself, away from the bond. You handed him a shirt of his that you had been borrowing, and he took it with a brief “thanks.” He hadn’t truly looked at you in days.

“Dean.” You halted him with a gentle hand on his arm. It got him to look at you, at least.

“If you need anything, even if it’s just to talk, just call me,” you said. He gave you a smile that barely reached his eyes.

“I’m fine, really,” he said. “But thanks. I’ll let you know when we’re on the way back. Guarantee, this isn’t gonna take long.”

That wasn’t what Sam said, but Dean just kissed you on the cheek and made his way downstairs to meet his brother.

That was Monday. It was a Saturday by the time they got back, so you were able to come by your uncle’s house and catch the brothers talking outside. You started to head toward them, but you sensed Dean’s unease through the bond. So you hung back behind a large van that at the very least, needed a new bumper.

“About me and Dad,” you heard Sam say. “I’m sorry the last time I was with him, I tried to pick a fight. I’m sorry that I spent most of my life angry at him. I mean, for all I know, he died thinking that I hate him. So, you’re right. What I’m doing right now is too little. It’s too late.”

You heard emotion start to make Sam’s voice tremble, and your heart broke for him too.

“I miss him, man,” he said. “And I feel guilty as hell. And I’m not all right, not at all…but neither are you. That much I know.”

A tendril of Dean’s irritation made it through your bond. But it was laced with deeper emotions than you’d ever felt from him—self-loathing and disgust with himself being the least of them. You covered your mouth with a shaky hand.

“I’ll let you get back to work,” Sam said. You heard his boots crunch toward you, but you couldn’t make yourself move.

When Sam eventually found you, he looked surprised to see you, but then he softened and laid a hand on your shoulder.

What should I do? you wanted to ask him. You didn’t know what Dean needed right now. Did he need space? Should you try to talk to him, comfort him? And if you did, what the hell should you say?

Dean had seemed to know exactly how to comfort you after you burned your mother’s ring, laying her to rest. Before that, he’d gotten you to open up about Danny Schmitt and how that experience had rattled you. But now, you couldn’t do the same for Dean, your boyfriend. Your soulmate.

Sam didn’t have words for you either though. He just continued inside the house, leaving you standing at a crossroads of decision.

Right now, you felt like a failure. Your mom had always known what to say to your dad. Their connection had seemed…well, seamless.

But you were startled out of your thoughts when you heard a crash of metal on metal. You rushed out to the clearing where Dean had already spent two weeks working on the Impala. Now he was wrecking the hood and body all over again with a large crowbar.

You remained at a distance for a minute, not sure how to get closer but too worried to leave him be.

Dean? you reached out tentatively with your mind.

His hands tightened on the crowbar as he struck the dented hood of the car again. Then he beat through the windows with a spectacular shatter of glass.

You flinched with a small gasp. But that sound was enough to cut through it all, at least for Dean. He stopped short, though he was heaving for breath. He looked back at you over his shoulder, his eyes widening.

He lowered his arms and was purposefully slow when he tossed the crowbar back onto the car’s hood, letting it go. He didn’t want to face you again. You knew because you felt his shame come through the connection.

You were hesitant at first, but you deemed it safe enough to approach him. His gaze stayed on the ground, even when you touched his back. His shirt was dusty and drenched with sweat.

Sorry, he imparted to you.

You shook your head and slipped your hand into his. He squeezed your hand, and that gave you the courage to wrap your free hand around his arm and press yourself against his tall, strong frame from behind. But he didn’t always have to be strong.

I love you, you reminded him. Your dad loved you too.

You let out a shaky breath.

The last thing he said to me was a request, you said, and with a slight smile, He said you could be a lot like him sometimes, a bit too stubborn. He asked me to take care of you…and I promised that I would.

Dean breathed heavily through his nose. You knew he was fighting it, but you rubbed his arm and stayed there until the dam in both of your minds finally broke.

He released everything he was hiding from you. All his shame, the depths of his distress and grief. It all but shredded your heart.

Tears burned in your eyes and fell, but you didn’t let that stop you from slipping around him and taking his face in your hands. When he looked down at you, his eyes were shining and red.

His mouth trembled, but neither of you spoke. You just leaned up and wrapped your arms around his neck and shoulders, bringing him to you as tight and warm as you could.

His arms likewise slipped around your frame. At first it was just instinctive, holding you back. But as you continued to rub his back and soothe your fingers through his hair, his tight shoulders loosened.

Dean clung to you then, burying his face into your hair, your neck, pressing his lips into your skin.

And he let go.

AN: Whew, lots of drama and feels there. Every time I watch 2.01 I wanna give both brothers a ginormous hug. Especially Dean, poor guy.

But the reader finally met John (however brief that was). And she finally let Dean know exactly how she feels. The question is: when will Dean?

So let me know what you thought of this chapter!

The next one will be a bit lighter: the reader and Dean go on their first real date!

To keep reading: PART 10

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