Cowboys and Angels (A Dean Winchester/ Supernatural FanFiction)

Chapter 7: My Sacrifice

Chapter 7: My Sacrifice

A boy who looked to be about eleven was lying half asleep in the hospital bed, his head as well as his lower arms wrapped in bandages.

His blue eyes were dull, seemingly lifeless. I slowly walked up to him and he lifted his head, looking up at me tiredly.

“Dylan,” I asked gently. He nodded.

“The one and only.” Dean raised a surprised eyebrow, smirking.

“I haven’t even known you for a minute and I already like you,” he smiled. I rolled my eyes, shooting him a look. He met my eyes, his intense gaze steady and unwavering. Dylan smiled slightly. Sighing, giving up on my glaring contest with Dean, I picked up the clipboard hanging at the end of Dylan’s bed. His main injuries were some burns on his upper arms, his calves, and then a small concussion, but other than that, the only other damage done was mental—which for some can destroy them.

“I’m Agent Brooks and this is Agent Sanders,” I said placing the clipboard back in its original place. “How’re you feeling?” The boy lifted his arms, allowing Dean to take a look at the wounds.

“I’m alright. I have a pretty bad headache, but other than that, I’m okay. I could’ve been hurt much worse—guess I got lucky…” he trailed off, sadness flashing in his eyes.

“Hmm… You seem doubtful.”

“My parents are dead.” Dean looked down at the boy, surprised by how straightforward he was. I raised a curious eyebrow.

“Welcome to the club,” I muttered under my breath. Dean eyed me, but I just flicked my hand dismissively.

“I’m sure that came as a real shock. Have you been updated on the case? Or do you even want to hear about it?”

“They told me it was suicide. I was too shocked to care at that point. Now, to be honest, I know that’s not true. Just because I’m a kid they think I’m weak and that I can’t be able to handle the truth.”

“Then what do you think really happened,” I asked pulling up a chair, sitting down beside him, gently taking his hand.

“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.” I laughed.

“That’s what he said to me when we first met—at a bar. I asked him why he looked like a wreck and he said I wouldn’t believe him, but he story was pretty believable,” I smiled, motioning towards Dean, casting a glance in his direction. The other hunter was smirking, what seemed to be lust flashing in his eyes. Dylan looked between the two of us, somewhat shocked. He pushed himself off of his pillow and into a sitting position.

“I’m assuming you knew your parents were hunters,” Dean asked turning towards the boy. He nodded, surprise flashing in his seemingly innocent blue eyes.

“Of course… Something like that is hard to hide. They kept me away from all of that crap though. They didn’t want me to get involved—afraid of me getting hurt,” he sighed. “Which I find rather ironic seeing as I almost died less than 24 hours ago. If they had taught me how to defend myself against all these monsters then things might’ve gone differently.” I eyed Dean. He was staring out the window on the other side of his room, pain flashing in his eyes. I knew what he was thinking. No one would ever want to live the life we live. It was a painful. We’ve seen and done things other would never believe. We moved around so much that a true home was only a distant dream—no, it wasn’t even a dream, it was a nonexistent reality.

And once people found out what we truly did, they became scared of us, leaving without a word. We have the blood of the people who have died because we were too late on our hands. And the blood of the people who died due to our carelessness flows in a river through our minds—drowning us.