A figure walked toward me, his outline a shape I recognized but couldn't place. I took a deep breath, standing from the cool metal chair I had been sitting in. Suddenly I looked around the room, realizing I didn't know where I was. Concrete bricks lined the walls, leaving no room for a single window to the outside world. It was much darker than it should have been. Only a single light bulb hung from the ceiling, swinging manically in the windless space.
I watched the figure's hand as something seemed to distort it's shape. A long, barrel-like object began to extend from the fingers until it was firmly grasped in the hand. It wasn't until I saw the length of the object and the crisp reflection of the light upon it's material, that I realized it was a baseball bat. A metal baseball bat. I felt my chest clench tight; my stomach dropped to the floor. Everything clicked all at once. The main stepped out from under the shadows, his face leaving no surprise in my heart. Father.
Yet, something was still off. While the figure bore my father's resemblance, a menacing red filled his eyes, spidery veins extending from the sockets. This was no man. It was a monster; combined with my father, at that. It was my goddamn worst nightmare.
He stepped closer to me, swinging the bat between his hands. I saw blood drip from the edge of the metal. The smirk plastered across his face sent chills to my spine within seconds.
"Please," I held my hands up. "Just let me go. You don't need to do this."
The monster laughed, low and twisted. I should have known it was not the same voice my father possessed, but it was so easy to confuse him with the creature in front of me.
"You will get what you deserve." My father growled, his voice distorted. "For running out on this family. For being so easily manipulated by that damn Winchester boy that you can't even see straight!"
He paused, only inches away from me. I cowered in my stance, more afraid than I had ever been. "But most importantly, my sweet daughter, for murdering the one woman I ever loved!"
I watched as he lifted the bat, his muscles clenching. There was no regret in his eyes, no remorse, no sense of forgiveness. Only the hatred I had seen for years, amplified in new ways I never could have imagined. I closed my eyes just before I felt the bat break my bones.
I screamed.
"(Y/n)! (Y/n)!! It's ok! You're ok!" Dean shouted. I felt his arms grasping my shoulders, but I couldn't stop the desperate noise erupting from my chest.
My eyes were still clenched tight, unwilling to open them and see my father standing behind Dean, waiting for me. He'll find me. I always knew he would. God, how could I have been so stupid?
Still, fear overtook me and the screams only got louder.
I felt Dean's body shift on top of me, his strong arms pinning mine at my sides. Realistically, I knew he was only trying to stop me from hurting myself, or ripping my stitches open. But through all the confusion, I couldn't help but feel like he was trying to restrict me, keep me still, stop me from shielding my body. I could feel the flashbacks coming on, sending me into chaos.
"Get off of me!" I shouted, struggling under Dean's weight. The feeling was all too familiar. I could feel my heart rate reaching dangerous levels. It was literally about to jump from my chest. Everything on my body was shaking uncontrollably. With my eyes still shut, it was very easy to think that it was no longer Dean keeping me still, trying to protect me; but my father, taking out his rage upon my fragile frame.
Tears began to build behind my eyes, slipping past the lids and cascading down the side of my face. "Please..." I whispered, my body now still; cowering under his grasp. "Please don't hurt me, I just can't do it anymore. I'm done. Please."
It was like I was back in my living room, my father now retreating away with a warm smile like he had gotten the job done. I had learned my lesson. It wasn't until I heard Dean's voice that I realized where I was.
"(Y/n), it's Dean." His voice was so incredibly soft. I almost had to strain my eyes to hear it. "I'm not going to hurt you. No one is going to hurt you. (Y/n), please look at me."
Dean's hands moved to my face, tracing the line of my cheekbone ever so slightly. I could feel my heart slowing down, bringing myself back to reality. Slowly, I opened my eyes.
Visible relief spread across Dean's face. "You know where you are?" He asked, crawling off of me.
It took me a moment. My eyes traced the walls of the broken down motel room. Sam sat on the edge of his bed, concern written in ever inch of his expression. I dropped his gaze quicker than I should have. I looked back to Dean and nodded.
"You had a nightmare." Dean said, stroking my hair. "A pretty bad one."
"A nightmare?" I asked, looking to the window, the empty darkness would have been comforting on any other night. It all felt so real, I almost didn't believe him. Half of me expected to see my father standing off in the distance, staring at me through the foggy window; a look upon his face that assured me that my time on this earth was closing in.
Dean must have noticed my stolen glance. He wrapped his arms protectively around my body. "He's not coming, (y/n). You're safe. I promise. I'm not going to let him hurt you."
I nodded, leaning into Dean's embrace. "I'm sorry I dragged you into all of this." I whispered.
Dean sighed, running his fingers along my back. "You don't ever have to apologize to me. You're not too much to handle, (y/n), and you sure as hell aren't just baggage. I know it's only been a month, or whatever, but you're my best friend." He paused for a moment. "I want to be here, with you. I want you to be safe and I don't care what you think you're dragging me into. I'm not letting you go. Not ever."
I could feel warm burning inside my chest. There were so many things I wanted to say to him, but I honestly couldn't find the energy. So we just sat there for a while, under the dim light of the sleazy motel room, holding onto each other as if one would fall apart the second the other let go. I know probably would.
I yawned. Dean pulled back, looking at me and then to the clock. I already felt significantly colder without his body near me. I craved it's return.
"You should probably try to get some more sleep." Dean said, scratching his hand. "You could really use it."
He stood up from the bed, leaving a dent where he once sat. I stared at it for a while, silently begging for him to come back. And then I did.
"Dean?" I whispered, I could barely speak.
He turned around, running his fingers through his hair. "Yeah?"
I sighed, biting my lip. I didn't know how to ask, but I knew I had to. I was never going to be able to fall asleep without him. "Will you... will you stay... with me?" The second the words left my mouth I felt pathetic and weak and foolish and-
"Of course." Dean was already next to the bed, a gentle smile on his face like he was hoping for the same thing all along. He lifted the covers and crawled in next to me. The bed shifted with his weight and I found myself sliding towards him. He pulled his body closer to mine and slid his right arm under me.
I rested my head against his chest, his arms wrapped delicately around my shoulders. I felt his lips graze the crown of my head. I closed my eyes, a smile lifting my cheeks.
"No ones gonna hurt you." He whispered, reaching for the light, pulling us back into the darkness. Though this time I wasn't nearly as afraid.
"I'm right here." Dean sighed, running his hands along my arm. It was like he was reminding himself. "I'm not going anywhere."
I fell asleep listening to his heart beat.
The following morning when I woke, I rolled onto my back, rubbing my eyes. I groaned as I covered my face with hands, trying to avoid the sunlight. After I deemed myself at least somewhat ready to face the day, I removed my shield. When I opened my eyes, I found Dean Winchester staring at me.
I sighed, half of a laugh escaping my lips. I almost forgot he was there. "What is it, Winchester?"
Dean shook his head, a grin a wide as I had ever seen it on his lips. "Nothing. I... uh, you just look really beautiful, is all."
I squinted my eyes, trying to determine if he was joking. When his cheeks turned the absolute slightest shade of red, I knew he was being serious. I was at a compete loss. He couldn't have possibly meant that. Did he even notice that half my face was swollen? I lifted the tangled ends of my hair, and looked to the homemade stitches in my arm, the dried blood still fairly evident. I laughed.
"You must have some very low standards." I sat up casually, trying to convince him I wasn't phased by what he had said.
Dean kept his smile, still staring at me. He didn't say anything for a while, not that anything needed to be said, really. I watched as he stood up, walking over to the edge of the room where his single suitcase sat. He bent over and grabbed an old t-shirt from the pile and a pair of jeans.
He started humming an old song my mom always used to sing. It was a beautiful melody and it sounded so effortless coming from his voice. I tucked my knees to my chest, watching him move about the room. I was still wearing my clothes from last night, covered in splashes of blood. I looked up to see Dean's shirt stained in the same. He looked over his shoulder.
"You alright over there?" He called.
I nodded, about to respond with some kind of witty remark but suddenly my own thoughts escaped me. Dean reached behind his head, grasping at the fabric of his shirt. Once he had it safely in his hands, he pulled it up his back and over his head, tossing it to the side. I bit my lip.
"You're not gonna tell me to shut my eyes or turn around?" I asked, a more flirtatious tone than I meant to inflect, but hey, he didn't exactly leave me with another choice.
Dean laughed, turning towards me, his fresh shirt still in his hands. My eyes traced every inch of his torso. It was seriously unfair how ripped he was. No kid should have chiseled abs like that. Good God, Winchester. Is he trying to kill me on the spot?
"Enjoying the view?" Dean smirked. Once I snapped out of my daze, I realized he was standing at the edge of the bed. He slipped his shirt over his head and pulled it down on his side. The show was officially over.
"What? Uh yeah." I stammered out, feeling my cheeks blush.
He raised an eyebrow at me, grinning wildly. That bastard had me in the palm of his hand and he knew it.
I jumped off the bed, hitting him lightly on the arm as I made my way to my backpack. "Don't act like that wasn't your plan the whole time, jerk."
Dean laughed, stepping into his jeans. "Point still stands."
I shook my head, reaching down into my bag for a fresh pair of clothes. "Well, unfortunately for you, you don't get the same pleasure."
I heard Dean's laugh over my shoulder as I made my way to the bathroom, closing the door behind me. It's not that I'm embarrassed, not at all. I mean, we're hunters. Modesty isn't exactly apart of the job description. Any other day I wouldn't have had a problem with it. Maybe I would have teased him the way he teased me. But as I pulled my blood stained t-shirt over my head, and uncovered all of the bruising I had been dreading to see since it all happened, I knew that undressing out there would have been a horrible mistake.
I examined myself in the mirror, running my fingers gently across the patches of black and blue skin. I winced at the pressure. That won't be going away any time soon. I sighed, looking now to the massive cut in my arm, the one Dean so graciously stitched up last night. It seemed to be holding well, which meant he knew what he was doing. I wondered for a moment if he had to stitch Sam like this before, or even his dad. Maybe himself. I didn't like the thought.
I must have been in here longer than I realized when I heard a knock on the door.
"(Y/n)? Everything ok in there?" Dean called. I could hear the concern in his voice. It was a wonder how fast that boy could go from flirtatious to genuine in seconds. He's a mystery, that's for sure.
"Uh, yeah." I said, trying to pull my clothes on as quickly as possible. I really wouldn't put it past Dean to bust the door open if he thought something was wrong. "I'm fine. Just a second."
"Ok." Dean replied. I heard the door shift a little as he must have leaned against the frame. "I was thinking maybe we could do something today... Sam should be getting back pretty soon from his morning run, or whatever. Maybe we can go grab some breakfast at the diner, or..."
"Sounds perfect." I opened the door, effectively cutting Dean off. He stared at me for a moment, then I saw his eyes dart right back to the cut across my forehead, then to the stitches in my arm. I reached forward, resting my hand against the side of his face. "I'm ok, Dean. I promise."
He sighed, trying to force a smile on his lips. "Every hunter says that. It's never true."
I took a deep breath, leaning closer to him. I wrapped my arms around his neck, pulling his body to me. I felt Dean's arms secure gently around me. "I swear to you, ok? I'm going to look like a broken rag doll for a while, but I'm ok. I got out of that hellhole. I'm perfect."
I felt the soft laugh from Dean's chest against mine. He pulled back, a smile upon his cheeks.
"Alright. Then let's grab Sam and head out." Dean grabbed my hand, making his way towards the door. "I'm starving."
I laughed, following closely behind him.
As Dean reached for the knob, it turned seemingly on its own accord and swung out from under him. He took a few steps back, pulling me with him. In one swift movement he pulled his gun from behind him and held it in position. Without a second thought, I did the same, almost forgetting I had it on me.
With both of our guns pointed at the door, I had a sudden realization. What if it was my father? I panicked for a fraction of a second before I knew exactly what I would do. I would put a damn bullet between his eyes.
The door swung open, leaving a tall man in it's wake, carrying two large bags. He stepped into the room, an expression of complete exhaustion on his face.
Dean quickly lowered his gun, standing up straight. "Dad?"
I looked from Dean to the man, then back to Dean. He nodded to me, telling me it was alright to lower my weapon. It was John Winchester that stood before us. Damn. This guy was a legend.
"What the hell are you doing?" John asked, staring at Dean. He dropped his bags in the center of the room.
"I uh, I didn't know it would be you." Dean stammered, running his hands through his hair. He was... nervous; like he was trying to come up with the right thing to say. "I wasn't expecting you."
John sighed. "Well, I'm here, aren't I?"
Dean nodded, looking over at me. I offered him a small smile, he tried to return it, but his lips fell quicker than they lifted.
John looked around the room. "Where's Sam?"
"Morning run." Dean replied quickly.
"On his own?" John asked, condescendingly. "What did I tell you?"
"Always look out for Sammy." Dean said, almost mechanically, like he had been saying those five words for years, like those were the last words he said every night. They were drilled into his head. He said those words like they were all he knew. "I'm sorry, Dad. I won't let it happen again."
I reached over and placed my hand on Dean's shoulder, trying to comfort him. But he pulled away quickly, almost like he was flinching at my touch. I gave him a look, confusion written in my eyes. He looked away from me, almost as if he were embarrassed. I don't want to say I was hurt but... I was hurt.
Then it clicked. I heard the stories, so I knew enough about the Winchester to put all the pieces together. Dean had the weight of the world on his shoulders. Sam was his full responsibility. It was his only responsibility. His own life took a second seat. It all felt familiar, but different. This was a kind of emotional wreckage I never could have been able to deal with. Scars fade. This kind of crap doesn't.
Then Dean turned to me, an apologetic look in his eye that he never would have allowed John to see. I nodded, trying to tell him that it was alright. I understood what he was going though.
John stood up, gathering his belonging in his hands. "Get your stuff together, we leave in twenty minutes."
That was it. My heart plummeted through my stomach down to the damn fiery core of the planet. Dean seemed to wake up from his military daze.
"What? No!" Dean exclaimed. When John turned around, a sternness in his eyes that was all too familiar, Dean backed up. "I mean, I'm sure there's more cases around here, right? Why don't we stick around for a while and just do those... you know... for now?"
John shook his head and let out a sigh, rubbing his temple. "Why would I do that?"
Dean looked around the room, grasping at straws for answers. "Sam's doing really well in this school, and I'm almost done with high school and I was thinking maybe I could just finish the year here. It's only a few more weeks until graduation."
John stepped forward, a new kindness in his eyes. Then he looked to me, as if it was the first time he had really noticed my presence. He turned back to Dean, understanding. He put a hand on Dean's shoulder. "Look son, I'm sorry, but Bobby has got me a lead a few states over and I need you with me if we're going to catch this son of a bitch. Family first, right?"
Dean nodded. "Yeah. Family first."
John smiled and turned away from Dean, heading towards the door. Sam staggered in a few seconds later.
"What's going on?" Sam said through heavy breaths. He leaned over, resting his hands on his knees.
Dean rubbed his face with his wrist. "Get your stuff, Sammy, we're leaving."
Surprise took over Sam's features. He looked to me for a fraction of a second before turning to Dean again. "What? What about-"
"Dad's orders." Dean said harshly, running around the room to gather his things. I stood and watched him as he threw all of his clothes into a single duffle bag. He paused, staring at the bag for a moment. Then he stood up slowly, finally meeting my eye.
"I'm so sorry." Dean whispered, dropping my gaze, as if he could barely look at me.
I forced a smile, walking towards him. "I know. It's alright."
"What are you going to do?" Dean asked, biting his lip nervously.
I shrugged my shoulders. "I don't know. I'll figure something out."
Dean nodded. He sighed, looking over to Sam. "You ready, Sammy?"
Sam didn't reply, he just gathered his things and walked out the door, leaving a wake of anger at his feet. I guess that answered his question.
"He'll get over it." I offered, reaching forward and running my hand along Dean's arm. His lips twitched ever so slightly at the touch, as if he was craving more.
But the feeling faded. He shook his head, fidgeting in his stance. "Sam's not like us, (y/n). He doesn't want anything to do with this life. He hates moving around and what is does to our family. I don't think he'll ever get over it."
I knew exactly what he meant. That kid was going to make it out of the business. He would actually go on to college, or be a doctor or a lawyer, something worthwhile. Sam Winchester would save lives in a real way. I smiled at the thought. He was a good kid. He deserved a good life. But then I looked to Dean, a frown evident on his lips. I knew then that it was his worst nightmare.
"Dean!" John called from outside, the impala roaring. "Let's go!"
Dean turned to me, his jaw dropped, completely at a loss of what to say.
"It's ok, Dean. Go." I forced a smile, a genuine on at that. It wasn't easy. I felt my heart breaking in half, ripping from my chest, and being thrown in the fiery abyss, but I smiled. Dean needed to know I would be alright without him, even if it was a dirty lie.
He nodded, slowly. He reached forward and grabbed my hand, not saying a word. He just stood there for a moment, tracing circles with his thumb. Then he began to step away, his touch lingering until the absolute final moment.
He let go.
I watched him as he made he way to the door, ignoring the sounds of his Dad shouting at him to move along. He paused in the frame, his shoulders hunched. I watched as he took a deep breath, allowing the calming feeling to press throughout his body.
"Screw it." Dean groaned, dropping his duffle to the floor. He spun around on his heals, racing towards me. I hardly had anytime to react before I felt his hands cup the sides of my face, bringing me in towards him. His lips crashed against mine, hungrily, desperately, with such conviction I had never experienced before.
I wrapped my arms around his waist, running my hands against the thin fabric. His lips were softer than I imagined and he tasted of a whiskey he shouldn't have at such a young age. The car horn beeped, pulling us both out of our tiny, magical, chick-flick world. His lips lingered against mine for a second before he stepped back, a grin consuming his features.
"I'll call you." Dean said, backing up and grabbing his bag. "Promise you won't forget about me?"
"Impossible." I called back, walking towards the door as Dean made his way to the impala. He paused as he reached the passenger door, staring at me.
"I'll see you around, (y/n)." Dean said, the smile still upon his lips. I nodded, waving as he climbing inside the car. I leaned my head against the cool metal frame of the door, watching as the impala drove off into the distance. I kept my eyes trained on it as long as I could, knowing the real possibility that I would never see it again. I pushed that thought from my mind, hoping it wasn't true.
I run back inside the motel room, grabbing my belongings from the floor. Closing the door behind me, I made my way to the old truck I had stolen from those old folks, tossing my bag in the back seat. My hands gripped the wheel, feeling the firm leather between my fingers. I closed my eyes, a smile on my lips. This was it. I was free. I could go anywhere, do anything. Maybe I would start doing cases around the country, like the Winchesters. I could easily make money conning people. I have the kind of face that screams pity. I could do that, easily.
As I shifted the truck into gear, I heard the engine purr. Granted, it wasn't as beautiful as the impala, but it was mine. The old, rusted, probably broken piece of crap truck was mine. It would get me safely out of this town anyway.
I pulled out of the motel parking lot, sitting at the edge of the road. I looked down to the left, the way the Winchesters had gone. Taking a deep breath, I drove onto the road, traveling right. It was time for me to make it on my own. Without my dad. Without Dean.
I knew I would see Dean again. Hell, I'm absolutely sure of it. If I didn't track him down, something told me he'd come find me. I'd see him again, and that's what was keeping me together.
I thought of where I would go next, and the people I would encounter there. Maybe I'd meet more people like Dean, but that didn't seem likely. But the far scarier thought, was that I would run into men like my father. Not that they could hurt me, at this point in my life I wouldn't let them. But they could be inflicting that pain on their own children. I didn't want to think about all the kids still trapped inside their homes, blaming themselves for the faults of their father. I have a pretty justified hatred of most people, which will never do me any favors. It's just safer that way.
There are really only two types of people in this world anyway. There are the people who wrap a metal chain around your foot, an actor attached, and throw you into the ocean. The people that keep you drowning in the water, your hands clenching the crisp, clean air, with your mouth only inches from the surface: yet you know you would never reach it. The people who suffocate the life out of you. The people who take and take and take until you are nothing but a lifeless body floating in a sea of unforgiving waters. People like my father.
But then there are the type of people who hold you in the soft, swift, comfort of the freshly cut grass. The people who hold your hand, to keep you stationed on the earth before you float away in the insanity of space. The people who keep a hand on your shoulder. The people who rub your back when you're scared. The people who breath life into you and show you that you are worth something. People like Dean.
Those were the people worth sticking around for.
Dean was the only anchor I will allow to hold me down. He is what saved me from the flood waters. Dean Winchester is a goddamn hero I personally owe my life to. I don't know if he can save everyone, though he tries: but he sure as hell saved me.
