Fighting Through It All [Dean Winchester fanfic] #Wattys2015

Chapter Twenty Nine

Fear.

It strikes me in the chest like a dagger, piercing me and spinning slowly, painfully. It's cold and hot at the same time, sending chills down my spine yet making sweat form on my body. I try to gulp it down, but my gut churns and the blood in my veins turns to ice. I don't move, because it might shatter and cause me to break as well.

You're going to get them killed.

You're going to get them killed.

Their voices, cold as Lucifer's heart and as slicked with venom as a snake's fang, chant the statement over and over again. I stand in the centre of my room, no lights on, in the dead of night. I clutch my hands over my ears, images of our army getting slaughtered all in my name. The voices continue to come at me, growing in volume with every second. More voices join in, voices of my family, friends, and voices of strangers as well. They just say the same thing over and over and over again.

You're going to get them killed.

"Shut up," I mumble, tears pooling on the rims of my eyes, shaking my head. I dig my fingernails into my skull, shoulders slightly hunched over. The voices refuse to cease. "I said to shut up!"

The air falls silent. I can only hear my breaths as they come out, shaky and broken. The air is cold, though I still sweat. My chest heaves and shakes, and my legs feel as though they may give out. I try to stay standing, try to prove to myself that I am strong, but I give in. I give in to the crippling darkness and self hatred that resides in every ounce of my body.

I fall to my knees first, but soon follow after with a face plant into the ground. The carpet, dingy and moody smelling, is rough against my cheek. I curl myself into a small ball, trying to shrink myself down into something so small it's nearly inexistent.

Is this what I've come to? A small, crippled, broken mess? Something too destroyed and tarnished to be brought back to life? I used to be amazing. I could fight anything, face anything without even a blink of an eye. I had the strength of 100 men, a heart of stone, and a steady mind. But now, emotions have caused me to become a writhing mess that is too far gone to be retrieved.

My eyes begin to droop. The floor seems to become comfier, and my jacket seems to become warmer. Suddenly exhaustion overrides my body, and despite the gory images flickering through my head in a slide show, I drift into a form of sleep.

* * * *

"Myra!"

I shoot up, grabbing the person hovering above me and hauling them to the floor. I jump on top of them, pinning their arms down with my feet, and haul a bald out of my jacket, pressing it to their throat. I look down at the person, the person who's eyes I have memorized and the freckles I've tried to count endless times. He wears a worried expression, and tears well up in my eyes.

I discard of the night and fall into Dean. I have him hold me, his strong arms protecting me from the world. He shushes me as my body shakes, no sounds coming out despite a few tears that escape my eyes. I relish in this moment, the calm before the storm. I let him hold me, kiss me, and touch me. And he lets me do the same to him. Because both of us know.

This is no small war. This is not some haunting. This isn't a possession. This is nothing that we have ever faced before. This is a battle that will determine the fate of many people, and it's happening in only a few hours. When I actually did get back from the house in one night, I had asked Dean to get Castiel to tell Kiramin that we were ready to fight today, and pushing the day back one more day would be unnecessary. So it's happening, and both Dean and I know there is a good chance we will not make it through.