Destiny ~ Dean Winchester (love story), part two

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xDean POVx

As I followed Angie down the hall, my pulse pounded with a mix of anger, fear, and regret I could barely contain. She was running, putting distance between us, but I wasn't letting her shut me out. Not this time. I sped up, my voice rough, demanding, not even sure what I'd say when I caught up.

"We need to talk about this."

She shot a look over her shoulder, her voice sharp. "We really don't."

"I'm worried about you."

The words slipped out, raw and unguarded, and I could see the way they threw her off for just a second. It was so damn easy to say it now, when all of it was spilling over the edge. I almost hated myself for not saying it sooner.

"Dean, I'm not like you," she said, her face hardening. "The rules don't apply to me. Last time I checked, I was the monster here."

The words stung, more than I could've prepared for. She was quoting my own words, words I'd thrown at her once—back before I knew her, trusted her, understood what she was up against every day. She remembered. She'd kept those words, words I'd thrown so easily, like I hadn't even cared.

But something else was there, something deeper in her eyes. My brain was working overtime, piecing things together, snapping from moment to moment. I swallowed, then asked the question I suddenly knew I needed to.

"Wait. The thing with Cas just now—you thought he was Alastair."

The silence that followed told me everything.

"Because you remember," I said slowly, feeling the weight of it hit me like a punch to the gut.

"Yeah," she whispered, her voice so soft I almost missed it.

A sick feeling twisted in my stomach, replacing any anger with something sharper. "That's why you came to sleep in my bed last night."

She nodded, her gaze steady but guarded. "Yeah."

"How much do you—"

"Everything."

The world felt like it shrank to just the two of us. Her answer hit me with the force of every forgotten moment, every buried memory I thought I'd left behind. Every time I'd pretended I'd moved on, told myself that things were better this way. And now... all those things we'd shared, she remembered. She'd been carrying them all along.

"There are colors, Dean," she said, her voice breaking through the haze in my head. "On souls. They're like bruises, marks from every choice, every connection, every person who's mattered to you. Souls can bruise. I didn't realize I was holding onto something until I saw... the green, those lines in my soul, just like your eyes. It's what the djinn wanted, my memories of you, that power." She let out a bitter laugh. "But I wouldn't let go. My soul fought him, even though it ripped it apart. Because... I couldn't let you go."

Her words shattered every defense I'd built up, every excuse I'd told myself to keep her at a distance. I felt my chest tighten, breaths coming shallow as I looked at her, trying to process it. She'd fought through everything, carried me with her without even knowing why, and here I was, too damn slow to realize what that meant.

"My soul is healing," she said, softer now, almost apologetically, as if it would ease the weight of her confession. "But the memories—they hurt."

"All this time..." My voice broke, anger and regret pooling in my chest, choking me. "All this time I thought you took the easy way out, that it was better for you not to remember."