supernatural one-shots

imaginingsupernatural

Anger, even a mild irritation, should have been your first response when there was pounding on your door well past midnight, but when you cracked open the door, you could only feel disappointment. All the rage had burnt out of you and left your body an empty shell, cracked around the edges and broken pieces trailing after you wherever you went.

Not that you left the house.

You clung to the door like a small child, your cheek resting against the side. Your eyes were almost empty as you took in the form standing on your porch, filled only with heavy misery. Perhaps it was more like mourning. The deep ache of exhaustion weighed you down and kept you from screaming all the words that had boiled in you for so long.

Before, when you were only doubting Dean's fidelity, you were hurting too, sure, but that was a different kind of pain. It was fiery and passionate, lined with just a little bit of hope. This pain was a slammed door in your face, shocking and much more permanent. Empty. It felt empty.

Dean gazed at you, green eyes dull and glazed over, but filled with heavy guilt. He swayed as he stood there, wearing the same kind of speechless daze you surely mirrored. The shadow of a beard appeared darker over his jaw, but that could have been your sleepy imagination warping the glow of your porchlight across his face.

"Dean," you said, your voice a cross between a sigh and a plead, "what are you doing here?"

"I thought you might want this back," he said with a weak attempt at a smile, or maybe it was supposed to be a laugh. Either way, it flashed across his face, broken and lifeless.

An iron crowbar swung lightly between his fingers, casting a warped pendulum across the cement.

You can't bring yourself to do much besides stare at him, partly in awe. Once you wished he'd experience the same heartbreak he had caused you, but now, starring at his hollow eyes and pitiful drunkenness, you hoped only that he could manage to move on and let you do the same.

"Bad joke," he mumbled, delicately leaning the crowbar against the outer wall.

Your mouth was dry, but one question burned in you like dying embers. Why now? Why did he choose to care about you now?

"Did Sam send you here?"

Another broken laugh rattled through his chest, but you could have mistaken it for a sigh.

"Sam won't even talk to me."

"Then what are you doing here?"

"I don't expect you to forgive me, but I wanted you to know — I needed you to know — I'm sorry. That doesn't fix anything, I know, but I need you to hear me say it."

Pain smoldered in your chest, in your throat, behind you eyes that were being to prickle. You said you wouldn't cry in front of him again. You said you wouldn't cry.

He said he would never leave you.

It seems these promised were fated to be broken as much as you, shattered.

"Call Sam," you said, something wet leaking from the corner of your eye. Your voice was tight, too soft and too small. "He can drive you home."

"If Sam finds out I came here he'll kill me."

"You can barely walk. If you get behind the wheel of that car you'll kill yourself."

There was a look in his eyes, screaming at you with their heavy misery that he simply didn't care. It was then you cracked, another piece breaking off of you as you stepped to the side and opened the door all the way.

"Crash here tonight."

The place seemed to be more familiar to Dean than you, for he navigated the little house with ease, sinking into your couch cushions. There was a new stabbing pain in your chest when you reached for a blanket from your linen closet. He had used it so often that you had gotten into the habit of calling it his.

You draped it over his long body, a rehearsed action, and stood over him a moment too long before you realized you were hovering. You curled up in your armchair, cradling yourself and trying to numb the deep ache in your chest and quiet the voice screaming in your head.

You should have know better than to fall in love with a hunter!

It was true, after all. This lifestyle warped people, made their love dysfunctional and dangerous. You were broken just as much as Dean was, and foolish to think you could fit your jagged pieces together. You weren't meant to fall in love.

It was never your intention to get attached, but things has moved so unexpectedly. He moved so unexpectedly that you barely noticed that you had fallen for him until he caught you. It was bliss, a blind ignorance to this damned world you had never experienced before.

And now if was as if hell itself had dragged you into it's clutches to begin it's playful torment.

Dean's breathing was heavy, peaceful enough to make you believe the alcohol had finally caught up with him and lulled him into a deep sleep, but his childlike voice cut through the hot summer air of your living room.

"I still love you, you know."

Your cheeks were already tear stained, but now your bleeding heart was pouring from your eyes. Your chest rattled in suppressed, jagged breaths that you tried to quiet the shudders as best as you could. There was something so pitiful and ugly about crying and you simply couldn't stand the act.

"I don't know why I did it. I was just so afraid."

You knew this. You knew the fear behind trusting someone with something as fragile as your heart. You knew how easy it was to be overcome with paranoia and panic, to run away at the first sign of trouble and feign love with different paramour in a different town. It was too easy to force yourself to move on rather than face the loneliness of being left behind.

It was no secret your relationship had been crumbling, ripping at the seams and losing bits and pieces of yourself along the way. You felt Dean being pried from your arms every night he slept closer and closer to his edge of the bed. You were falling out of something, whatever had once been between you. Maybe it was the kindled romance you swore you'd never find, or simply a spark, another flame. It didn't matter anymore, because all that's left is an icy cold gnawing at your insides.

There was nothing you could say, no words to bring either of you any comfort. There was no brightside and no hope for the future as far as you could tell. The bridge had been burnt back in that motel room and all you were left with was the ashes.

Even after Dean had fallen into a deep sleep, you still couldn't get out of the armchair. There was a gravity keeping you here, with your legs tucked onto the seat and your eyes dropping with exhaustion. It was pointless and foolish, but you wanted to fall asleep next Dean one last time.

As much as you didn't want to admit it, you still loved him too.

When you woke, Dean's blanket was pulled over your shoulders and the couch was empty save for one thing: a crowbar.