Falling for a Hunter (Female Reader x Dean Winchester)

Ain't No Sunshine

This chapter is named after the Bill Withers song of the same title. I believe it is the perfect song to captivate everyone's feelings.  

Sorry for the length, but as it is the last chapter in this first book, I felt it needed it.

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Dean cradles you in his arms, unmoving for the entire ride back to Bobby's. The world outside the stolen car slips by unnoticed; there's no conversation, no attempt to process what's happened. The silence between him and Sam is unbearable, but the weight of loss has crushed any words they might have spoken. All Dean can do is sit there, in the back seat, clutching you close to his chest. His hand keeps brushing through your hair, over and over, as if the motion alone might bring you back to life. His thumb traces the curve of your cheek, but the warmth that once greeted him is gone, replaced by a stillness that terrifies him more than any monster he's ever faced.

Sam's knuckles are white around the steering wheel, his heart sinking lower with each mile they pass. The thought of having to tell Bobby gnaws at him, sharp and painful. He knows the burden should fall on him, not Dean. Not after everything Dean has gone through. But the thought of uttering the words makes Sam's throat tighten, and he feels the overwhelming weight of it pressing down on his chest.

As they pull into the familiar scrapyard, Sam hesitates for just a moment, gathering himself before he cuts the engine. The quiet that follows is suffocating. He turns in his seat, glancing back at Dean, his face a mask of sorrow. "I'm going in..." he says softly, the reluctance thick in his voice. "Do you want to wait here?"

But Dean doesn't respond. His eyes remain fixed on you, his fingers still absently brushing strands of your hair away from your face. The hollow look in his eyes tells Sam all he needs to know—Dean is somewhere far away, lost in a void of grief and denial. There's nothing left behind his eyes, no fire, no spark. Just emptiness.

Sam swallows hard and nods, forcing himself to open the car door. The sound of it closing echoes louder than it should in the silence of the scrapyard, and Dean's gaze snaps toward the house. His eyes follow Sam as he approaches the door, moving like a man sentenced to deliver the worst kind of news. Dean's gut twists, knowing that in a few short moments, Bobby's heart will shatter just like his.

He glances back at you, your stillness a cruel reminder of what he's lost, and with a heavy breath, he maneuvers you gently out of the car. His arms are strong, but the way he holds you is so tender as if the world might break you further if he's not careful. His legs are stiff, the ground beneath him feeling unsteady as he makes the agonizing walk toward the porch.

But before he can reach it, the door bursts open.

Bobby stumbles out, his face already streaked with tears, his eyes bloodshot and wide with dread. He must have seen it in Sam's face, the truth written there before a word was spoken. His breath hitches, and the distance between him and Dean stretches out like a chasm too deep to cross. Bobby's hands tremble as they hang uselessly at his sides, his gaze shifting from Dean to the lifeless form in his arms. He can't believe it. He won't believe it.

Both men freeze, staring at one another in a shared silence of grief so intense it feels like the air itself is made of knives. Dean thought he'd run out of tears somewhere along the road, but seeing the life drain from Bobby's eyes—the love, the strength, the very thing that made Bobby who he was—it all crashes down on him, and the tears return, hot and stinging.

Dean's breath catches as he cradles you, his arms trembling under the weight of your stillness. "I'm sorry," he whispers, the words barely audible as they choke out of him. His face twitches, each muscle tight with grief, and his knees finally give way beneath him. He collapses to the floor, still holding you close, shielding you from the cold dirt as if it might somehow harm you further. He can't let go. Not now. Not ever.